Seasons of Change
by WordNerds2008
Summary: Authors I'm Just Drawn That Way & Felena1971 are back, as the team WordNerds2008. Draco already owes Harry his life, and he resents being indebted. Then Harry testifies on his behalf at the Ministry, which just makes matters worse. HP/DM, slash, rated M.
1. Chapter 1: Summer

Standard Disclaimer: We do not own Harry or Draco, which – in our opinions – is a damned shame. We're not making any money from writing this story (another shame). Everything you recognize belongs to J.K. Rowling. The dirty parts belong to us!

_A/N: We're BACK! After an extremely long hiatus, I'm Just Drawn That Way and Felena1971, known here collectively as WordNerds2008, are back to posting fanfic. It feels fucking awesome._

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**Chapter One: Summer**

"I owe you, Potter," Draco said with a shrug. "If you want… that… then that's what you'll get." He suppressed a shudder, with moderate success, hoping to appear nonchalant. Obviously Potter had asked him for… that… just to humiliate him. But he wouldn't give the prat the satisfaction. If he had to go through with it, he would not let Potter see his emotions.

Draco rose from his chair and stepped closer to Potter, unbuckling his trousers as he moved. "Don't you always get what you want, after all?"

Stupid Crabbe. If Crabbe hadn't set off the Fiendfyre in the Room of Hidden Things, Draco wouldn't be in this ridiculous situation. Fiendfyre! As usual, Crabbe knew just enough about a topic to be extremely dangerous. Got himself killed in the process, the poor stupid fat bastard. Nearly killed everyone, didn't he? But of course, when Saint Potter is around, the likelihood of selfless heroism rises to almost ridiculous levels. Bloody Gryffndor!

Scarhead had grabbed a couple of brooms and tossed one to the Weasel, who grabbed Granger the Magical Mudblood and Goyle, and flew them to safety. Why couldn't Potter's sidekicks have grabbed Draco instead? True, he'd then have owed the Weasel a life-debt, a hideous prospect in its own right. Yet somehow he didn't think the Weasel was quite as kinky as Potter himself, his budding relationship with Granger notwithstanding.

But no. Of course, it had been Potter himself who had reached down and snatched Draco out of the Fiendfyre at the last possible moment, with flames licking at them both. It had been Potter's waist he'd wrapped his arms around, Potter's muscular back he'd clung to as they soared through the conflagration. Potter's firm abs that moved and flexed under his hands, maneuvering the broom as if it were an extension of himself. Potter's arse held tight between Draco's thighs.

At the time, naturally, Draco had not been thinking about Potter's body. He'd not even been thinking of the diadem that Potter had been seeking, and why on earth it could be so important that he'd look for it in the middle of the battle that would decide the very future of the Wizarding world. He'd been thinking only about fire. About fire, and death.

But two nights later, after some of the terror and shock of the battle had worn off, he began having recurring dreams in which he was flying. With Potter. Tucked in behind him on the broomstick, and holding on tight. Sometimes they flew over the Quidditch pitch, sometimes over Hogsmeade, and once – interestingly – around the Great Hall of Hogwarts. And always, always, they were naked.

When Draco climbed onto the broom behind Harry to escape the fire, something had happened. A zing – a shock of some kind ran through him. He wasn't sure later what to make of it. Perhaps it was the link between them being forged – the life-debt that he now owed. Or perhaps… Though he hated to consider it, these dreams he'd been having nightly were forcing the issue… Perhaps his body was responding to Potter's body. How could anyone think about lust at a time like that? His own friend – well, his flunky, at least – was burning up below him. Thinking, however, didn't have anything to do with it. It might have been some bizarre physiological response to the nearness and the hardness and, yes, might as well face it, to the heroism of that arsehole Boy Who Fucking Lived. It hadn't escaped Draco's notice that the life-debt almost assuredly had not yet been forged when he first climbed onto Potter's broom: his life hadn't quite been saved yet. Their escape had been narrow indeed.

That had happened eleven days ago. Draco had been having the disturbing dreams for over a week. Oh, he had used a Dreamless Sleep potion for a couple of nights, but as soon as he stopped using it, the dreams returned. He had tried desperately to forget about the whole awful incident. His subconscious, however, apparently had other ideas. As it turns out, it is very difficult to make yourself forget about something. The more you will yourself to forget it, the more it's on your mind. And now, to make matters even worse, Draco now found himself alone in the library of Malfoy Manor with Potter, whose green eyes blazed as he whispered, "I want you, Draco."

What the fucking hell was that all about? Every wizard in Britain, probably every wizard in the world, knew that Harry Potter, Savior and Hero, was dating Ginny Weasley. And every wizard who had attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry at any point in the past seven years knew that Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy hated each other.

Malfoys have always had a certain reputation to uphold, even with Lucius in Azkaban for the atrocities he committed as a Death Eater. So when Harry Potter showed up on their doorstep, Draco and Narcissa hid their surprise. They invited Potter into the sitting room, offered him tea, and waited politely to find out what the fuck he was doing there.

Potter sat on the edge of the divan, and swallowed a huge gulp of his tea, wincing as it went down – apparently slaying dragons as a Fourth Year doesn't mean one can handle heat. When he set the cup back into its saucer, it rattled loudly in the otherwise silent room. Draco smirked. Good. Potter should be jumpy coming to Malfoy Manor. The last time he was here, he and his friends had nearly been killed. It was gratifying to see that they'd made an impression.

They exchanged insincere pleasantries. Draco waited. Potter wanted something, and Draco looked forward to the opportunity to refuse him.

When Potter finished his tea, Narcissa stood, letting him know the interview was over.

"No, wait," said Potter, and his voice cracked. "I… there's a reason… the thing is…"

Narcissa sat again, and folded her hands in her lap. "Yes?"

"I just wanted to thank you, Mrs. Malfoy."

Draco glanced at his mother. What had she done?

"Thank you, for not giving me away. For letting Voldemort think I was dead."

Draco and his mother both flinched at the casual use of the fallen Dark Lord's name, and Draco hoped Potter hadn't noticed.

Narcissa waved a hand dismissively. "It was nothing."

"Well, it wasn't nothing to me," he said. "So, er... yeah... thanks… just... thanks."

"And I am grateful to you, too, for saving Draco from the fire that killed Vincent," she said. "It was an extraordinary night, and many people were helped by friends as well as by strangers."

And in at least his case and Goyle's, Draco had thought, by foes. Why had Potter and his friends saved them?

"Yes," Potter agreed. "Extraordinary. Surreal. I'm still trying to make sense of it all." His gaze lit on Draco for a long moment. Maybe he, too, was wondering why he had saved his enemy.

"I imagine that is so," said Narcissa. "Your life has changed dramatically since then. So much attention. An Order of Merlin. An invitation, I believe I read, to join the Aurors, even without finishing your formal education. It must be… overwhelming."

And here it comes, Draco realized: Potter's true reason for visiting was to humiliate him. His own mother listed Potter's achievements while he just had to sit there, stewing in the juices of his own failure.

But Potter did not gloat. In fact, color rose in his face, accentuating his cheekbones. He studied his shoes and blinked a fair few times. Was it an act? Draco didn't think Potter had the skill. Could he genuinely be that modest?

"Your lives, I reckon, have changed dramatically as well," Potter said, having regained most of his composure, though his color was still high. "Are the two of you managing with Mr. Malfoy… away?"

Narcissa did not blush. If anything, she went slightly paler. "Draco and I will be fine during Lucius's absence."

"Surprised we didn't see you at the trial, Potter," Draco said. "Would have expected you to be a star witness against Father."

"I- I didn't think I needed to be there," Potter said, fixing his bright green orbs on Draco's silver-gray ones. "The body of evidence…" His voice trailed off. "I'm tired," he concluded.

"Couldn't be bothered, then? It was of little consequence to you that my father was being sent to Azkaban, so you thought you'd have a lie-in, and breakfast in bed?"

"Draco," he said, and Draco thought it sounded strange to hear his given name coming from Potter's lips, particularly in a voice that sounded almost strangled with emotion. "I didn't mean it like that. I just meant… My entire life has been one battle after another, for as long as I can remember. I'm tired of having enemies, tired of fighting. The trial seemed like it would only dredge up memories I'd just as soon have behind me, and I didn't see that my testimony would make or break the case. I just want peace." Again, his eyes rested on Draco.

Draco opened his mouth to speak, and found no sarcastic reply at the ready. Narcissa silenced him, unnecessarily, with a slight movement of her hand.

"An admirable, and understandable, sentiment," she said. Again, she stood, ready to see Potter to the door. "Thank you for visiting us. I hope you'll come again sometime."

"Er…"

Despite unburdening himself and declaring his desire for peace, Potter still seemed to have something on his mind. Draco and Narcissa both waited for him to spit it out.

"I was just wondering…" Potter rose, and looked beseechingly at Draco. "I wondered if I could have a word with Draco. Privately."

Draco shrugged, though his mind raced. Was it safe to be alone with Potter? He didn't seem particularly dangerous at the moment. Still, it would be awkward, at best, to be alone with him after having dreamed of him naked night after night.

"Certainly, if Draco will consent," said Narcissa, and gestured toward a room off of the hallway behind her. "You may use our library."

Draco inclined his head to show his assent, and then followed Potter to the heavy wooden door. That had been a mistake. If Draco had led the way himself, he would not have been walking behind Potter, eyes glued to the Chosen One's backside snugly encased in black denim, wondering how accurately he had imagined that bit of Potter's anatomy in his dreams. He would not have seen Potter's shoulder muscles and biceps strain under the soft jersey cotton of his green t-shirt as he pushed open the door. Draco entered silently, and dropped into the most comfortable chair while Potter merely stood, goggling at the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. It must be impressive to someone who used to live in a broom cupboard. It was, after all, the most envied private library in Wizarding Europe, especially now that Dumbledore's library had been dismantled, his books now donated to the school and in Madam Pince's eager care.

How long would the messy-haired git ogle the books like some Ravenclaw bibliophile? It wouldn't have been so bad, except that Draco found he was unable to resist ogling Potter while he was distracted.

"What do you want, Potter?"

Potter jumped, as if he'd forgotten that Draco was in the room with him. "I want to give you something," he said.

He bent to pull something from the backpack he'd been carrying, which he'd dropped onto the floor. When he turned back to Draco, it was with a wand – Draco's wand – in his hand. "Or, I should say, I want to return something of yours."

So Potter had had his wand all this time. Naturally. Potter had a way of figuring, somehow, into everything bad that had happened in Draco's life. It had been hell trying to use his mother's wand these past months. He missed his wand like an amputated limb. He'd been aching for it.

"Yes," said Draco. "If you're quite finished playing with my wand, I will take it back."

Draco stepped forward to reclaim it, but Potter did not release it right away. Instead, he pulled it back toward him, drawing Draco closer, and then he whispered the words Draco never expected to hear: "I want you, Draco."

There was no mistaking his intent.

Draco backed away, wand in hand. "You must be joking."

"I know this doesn't make any sense," Potter said, launching into what sounded like a carefully rehearsed speech. "I know we've never been friendly. I'm used to having you as my enemy, Draco. The thing is, now that we're done with school, and I am faced with the prospect of never seeing you again, I find that I can't stop thinking about you. I wonder…" He closed his eyes, seeming to force the words out. "I wonder if maybe all that energy we put into competing with each other could be put into something more… constructive."

Draco waited. Potter opened his eyes at last, and Draco raised one skeptical eyebrow at him.

Potter drew a breath of relief and smiled. "I can't believe I said that and you didn't hex me. I even handed you the weapon to do it."

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Under his Muggle t-shirt and jeans, Potter looked almost as fit as he had appeared in Draco's dreams. True, this entire implausible situation was probably an elaborate set-up, through which Potter intended to demean Draco further. Well, why the hell not? He'd been fucked by Potter metaphorically for years. Being fucked by him physically couldn't be much worse. And maybe if he gave Potter what he wanted, it would free him from the ongoing shame of the life-debt.

"You want me?"

Potter gulped and then nodded, warily.

"Elaborate," he said, dropping back into his chair. "What exactly do you want to do with me?" Let Potter be the one to squirm. Draco simply refused to show any discomfort.

"I, er…"

The eyebrow again.

"I want to, um…"

Draco smirked. He intended to be merciless.

"I want to… to be with you. Physically."

"Aren't you supposed to be with the Weaslette, physically?"

"Yeah… about that," said Harry, and he blushed again. "I, er, told her I needed some time to recover from the war and all. The thing is, Draco, at night… I still feel your arms around me. From when-"

"I know when you mean," Draco interrupted. "I have been thinking about that broom ride, too."

"You- you have?" Harry sank into a leather armchair, relief evident in his features.

"I have. I have replayed it in my mind over and over, and I still don't understand why you saved me in the first place. Unless you just liked the thought of owning me. And this new…desire… of yours is just another way you intend to own me."

"Own you?"

"You saved my life, Potter. There's no way around it. Crabbe is all the proof I need that I'd be dead if you hadn't pulled me onto your broomstick."

Oh Merlin. Being pulled onto Potter's broomstick. It just sounded so… wrong. So deliciously wrong. No – no. Just wrong. Just plain wrong.

Potter gasped. "The life-debt! I hadn't… this isn't… I swear! It never entered my mind!"

"And now you want to cash it in for sex," said Draco.

"No, no," Potter protested. He stood, arms extended toward Draco, as if pleading. "You've got it all wrong, Draco. It's not like that."

"And since when do you call me 'Draco'? Practicing for whispering sweet nothings in my ear while you… take what you want?"

"Take what I want? I'd never force you, Draco. I don't want it to be that way."

"I owe you, Potter," Draco said. "If you want… that… then that's what you'll get."

He rose and stepped forward, unbuckling his trousers. "Don't you always get what you want, after all?"

"Not like this, Draco," Potter said. He scrambled backward, until his back was against the library door.

Draco refastened his clothing, and smirked. Oh yes. Potter should know better than to try to demean a Malfoy. He just doesn't have what it takes.

"Fine," he said to the cowering brunet. "When you figure out what you do want from me, I'll be here – in your debt, waiting to be freed."

The green eyes shone as Potter turned to pull open the door. "I'm sorry I came," he said. "It was a mistake to think things could change between us." Then he disappeared, the door swinging shut heavily behind him.

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_A/N: Will Draco regret turning Harry down? Will Ginny tell Harry the baby she's carrying is really Dobby's love child? Will the secret of Hermione's heritage ever be uncovered? The answers to these and many more questions on the next episode of Soap! I mean, SoC!_


	2. Chapter 2: Fall

Standard Disclaimer: We do not own Harry or Draco, which – in our opinions – is a damned shame. We're not making any money from writing this story (another shame). Everything you recognize belongs to J.K. Rowling. The dirty parts belong to us!

_A/N: Thanks to our reviewers, and those who've put the story (or us) on alert, so that you can keep up with Harry and Draco as they navigate the turbulent waters of teenaged lust. It's been great fun already reconnecting with some of our favorite readers!_

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**Chapter Two: Fall**

Draco paced the floor in a small, sparsely furnished room in the Ministry. He knew this day would come; he'd known it since the day the Dark Lord fell. He'd heated his cauldron – now he had to brew in it.

He'd had it better than most of the Death Eaters, at least, and perhaps that was a good sign. Most of those who had survived the war, including Draco's own father, had been scooped up by the Aurors within three days. They had been sent to holding cells in Azkaban, gotten lightning-fast "trials" and sentences, and been shipped off back to their cozy little cells to go slowly mad in the presence of the Dementors.

In the past several months, the Aurors had been tracking down those Death Eaters who had gone into hiding, and collecting those few who, like Draco, had played only minor roles in the Dark Lord's organization. Interestingly, Potter wasn't joining in the fun. Just as well. It was bad enough to have the Aurors arrive at Malfoy Manor to take him into custody. It would have been far worse to have Harry among them when they did.

He'd gotten the summons a week ago. The Ministry had been good enough to let him stay at home until the trial, instead of in an Azkaban holding cell. They did take the precaution of confiscating his wand, and placed a Hermitus charm on him to alert the Aurors' office immediately if he went more than 50 meters from his front doorway.

He had considered throwing himself a going-away party and inviting all his friends. Then he realized he didn't really have any friends. He had hangers-on when he was at school, but they had all been treating him like a leper since the end of the war. They probably had foreseen this day just as clearly as he had, and did not wish to be associated with him, lest they be considered Death Eater sympathizers.

In fact, the only visitor to Malfoy Manor within ten years of Draco's age since the end of the war had been… Potter. Who had hit on him. Shit, maybe he ought to just tell the Wizengamot to send him straight to Azkaban. Life on the outside wasn't much better.

Draco suffered an almost irresistible urge to bang his head against the wall, but did not want to go into the courtroom – they might collect him any minute to take him there – with a bruise blooming on his forehead. He stopped pacing, and leaned his brow gently against the cool tiled wall. It didn't help. He closed his eyes and wished with all his heart he had never taken the damned Dark Mark. He'd thought it would bring him power and glory. It had never actually brought him anything but trouble. Deep, deep trouble. His current circumstances were only the latest in a startlingly long list of examples. Hell, he'd been a Death Eater for less than two years! How could so much have gone wrong in that little time?

Behind him, the door opened, then quickly closed. Draco's stomach felt like it dropped to his ankles. His time was up; they'd come for him at last. He took a deep breath, and turned to face the guard, but the cell was empty. His confusion lasted less than half a second.

"What do you want, Potter?"

A voice came from thin air, right in front of Draco's face. "I thought we established that the last time we met," it said.

Shit. Draco wanted to Crucio himself for asking that question. He growled in the general direction of the voice. "Take the damned cloak off," he said. "I can't stand talking to you when I can't see you."

Potter's lean body and grinning face materialized as the cloak was removed. Draco recognized that look. He'd seen it on Potter's face every time he'd caught the godforsaken Snitch.

"What's got you so chipper, then? Pleased that I'll finally get what's coming to me?"

"Not at all," Potter purred. "Pleased that you want to see me and you're ordering me to disrobe." He was standing far too close. Gryffindors don't seem to have the same personal space needs that Slytherins have.

Draco rolled eyes dramatically. "Buggering fuck, man. I'm on trial here. I'm not in the mood." He suddenly wished he had used a less colorful epithet.

"I have a feeling," said Potter, "that my being here is going to improve your mood."

"The only time your presence has ever improved my mood was when I caught you in my compartment on the Hogwarts Express," Draco said. "You're not here to let me kick in your face again, are you?"

"Er," said Potter, backing up a step. "No. That wasn't in my plans."

"I could do it, you know. They're going to throw me in Azkaban anyway – what more can they do to me for assaulting you?"

He took another step back. "I don't know, Draco. But I'm not sure you'd want to find out. What I do know is that if you don't assault me, you may well go free. If you do, it might get you the Dementors' kiss, instead of just imprisonment."

"JUST imprisonment? "Do you have any fucking idea what it's like in that place?" Draco resumed his pacing, running his hand through his hair. "Did you ever even talk to that oaf, Hagrid, when he got back from Azkaban? Or that blood traitor Sirius Black, after his twelve-year stint in hell?" He heard his voice rising, knew he was losing his last shreds of self-possession. He stopped, took a deep shuddering breath, and attempted to regain his composure. "For fuck's sake, Potter. I usually expect that level of insensitivity from your dimwitted sidekick, Weasley."

"Shut up, Draco," growled Potter, "before you make me change my mind." He strode forward now, grabbed Draco by the shoulder, and jerked him around so that they faced each other. They were so close that Potter had to tilt his head back to look Draco in the eyes. "Did you hear me? I'm talking about your freedom. Can you stop insulting my friends long enough to listen to me?"

He had mentioned something about freedom, hadn't he? Were more selfless heroics on the way? Why would Potter save him? Again? Unless it was yet another attempt at humiliation. He probably expected Draco to get down on his knees and… beg. Not a fucking chance. Even avoiding Azkaban wouldn't be worth that.

Draco had a sudden image of himself on his knees in front of Potter doing something other than begging, and his stomach flipped over in excitement – no, alarm! Yes, definitely alarm. Was that what the pervert was after?

Ever since Potter's visit to Malfoy Manor, and that moment when they had both been holding Draco's wand and Potter had whispered in his ear, Draco had been replaying those words. "I want you, Draco," Potter had whispered. He whispered it at least a dozen times a day now, in Draco's rather disturbing recurring dreams (which had evolved from mere broom rides), and in his waking fantasies.

Draco had practically wanked himself raw in the past four months, imagining different scenarios of what would have happened if he had just quietly acquiesced, instead of going on the defensive. It made him feel filthy. He'd showered sometimes three times a day trying to feel clean again. Yet somehow, the warm water flowing over Draco's naked body had only evoked further thoughts of Potter. He could wash his body. He couldn't seem to wash away the indecent thoughts and images that plagued him. He assumed the stress of his eventual arrest must have been eroding what was left of his sanity.

In his more feverish moments, Draco had half-considered finding Potter, wherever he might be, and convincing him that it wasn't just the life-debt. That he was curious. That he'd felt drawn, too. That he'd had no peace since that awful night, when he'd climbed onto Potter's broomstick and clutched at his waist and screamed until his lungs hurt, and that maybe, just maybe, the only cure was to explore this bizarre compulsion – to see it through to its consummation. Fortunately, he had managed to restrain himself from giving in to those urges.

Still, there remained the fact that Draco WAS indebted to Potter. Perhaps if the Dementors sucked out Draco's soul, Potter would be unable to collect.

Draco turned his practiced sneer on Potter, and ripped his shoulder out of the Gryffindor's grasp. "If you're not here to let me kick in your face again, Potter, then tell me what the fuck you are doing here. It's not as if I wanted to spend my last moments of freedom with you, of all people."

"Just drop it, Draco. I'm trying to grow up and move on, here. Why can't you?" Potter tugged on his hair and adjusted his glasses. He took a deep breath. "I'm here to testify on your behalf, Draco. There's no way they'll send you to Azkaban if I testify saying you shouldn't go."

Draco's mouth dropped open. Potter had definitely lost his mind: first his sudden, unexplained (not to mention unnatural) desires, and now this. The strain of fighting the Dark Lord must have completely unhinged him.

"Nice try, Potter," he said, turning away again, and leaning one shoulder into the wall. "I know you're trying to cheer me up, and all, but your comedy routine sucks."

"I'm not trying to be funny, damn it! I'm here to testify, and I think, with my help, you'll get off."

Draco was speechless.

Potter suddenly blushed. "I mean, that they'll drop the charges, Draco." He grinned. "But I like the way you think."

"You're insane, Potter," Draco said, recovering his sneer. "Despite what Umbridge and the Daily Prophet were saying in our fifth year, I don't think even you are a good enough liar for them to believe whatever you might say on my behalf."

"I won't have to lie," said Potter. He reached up, and ran his fingers through Draco's hair, smoothing it in the front. "Sorry," he said. "You'd mussed it earlier. You'll want to look good for the judge." He gave Draco an appraising look. "Okay, so you always look good. Even with your hair mussed. Maybe especially with your hair mussed, in fact." He reached up again, perhaps to re-muss Draco's tresses, but Draco caught his hand and stopped him.

"What are you playing at, Potter? I may be indebted to you, but I am not your toy. I'll thank you to keep your hands to yourself."

"Sorry," Potter said, blushing again. "Your hair is always so perfect – it was distracting to have it looking so… tousled. I didn't mean to make you feel… that way. Again. Like I want to own you. I'm just trying to make things better for you."

"Don't do me any favors, Potter." Draco realized he was still holding Potter's hand. He dropped it.

"I'm not planning to testify as a favor to you, Draco," he said. "I'm doing it because it's the right thing to do."

"Then why are you here? In this room with me, I mean. You didn't need to tell me about your testimony; you could just have gone straight into the courtroom. If you don't intend to make me beg you for my freedom – or barter for it – then why are you here?"

"I was trying to be nice – a concept you are clearly not familiar with. We'll have to work on that." The green eyes fixed on Draco's stormy gray ones. "When I had my trial, before fifth year, and I was afraid I'd be thrown out of school and maybe imprisoned, I was terrified. I would like to have known that Dumbledore had a witness who could back up my claims about the Dementors. But he kept me in the dark, as he did for most of that year. I know now that he had his reasons, but at the time, it felt cruel. I thought you might like to know, sooner rather than later, not to lose hope. That I plan to keep you out of Azkaban. I thought it might ease your mind. So I came to you."

Draco stared into the emerald depths. Hope blazed in his heart for a brief moment before suspicion doused the flame yet again. "And that's the only reason you're here?"

"The only," said Potter. Then he broke eye contact for a moment. "Well, actually," he conceded, "I guess there is another reason, now that you mention it."

Of course. There had to be an ulterior motive. He crossed his arms, raised an eyebrow, waited.

"I felt really bad about the way I left your house that day," Potter said. "I know that what I told you was… unexpected. You have no reason to trust me, given our history. And I suppose I hadn't thought things through very well. I realize now there probably is a life-debt, and under the circumstances… Well, I guess it makes sense that you thought I was trying to take advantage. The debt certainly complicates things… And Merlin knows they're already complicated enough."

"You think I like owing you? I'm already in debt to you for saving me from the Fiendfyre. Your testimony today would put me further in your debt. That's all I need – owing my life and my freedom to Harry Bloody Potter."

"I don't want you to owe me either," Potter said. "But I couldn't just let you die, and I can't let you go to Azkaban if I can keep you out. You don't deserve it, Draco."

Draco closed his eyes, and ground his fists into his temples. This whole insane conversation was giving him a bitch of a headache. "How can you say that? You hate me!"

"I don't hate you," Potter said. He took Draco's hands in his and lowered them.

Draco opened his eyes. Tenderness – from Potter. Hell had frozen over, Kneazles flew, and Luna Lovegood had developed fashion sense. All signs of the apocalypse.

"I mean, yeah," Potter was saying. "I did hate you. And I hate some of the things you've done, of course. But I'm tired of hating. I can't go through my life that way any more. And I wish you felt the same way."

"I wish you'd just leave me alone, Potter." He pulled his hands out of Potter's grasp to make sure the Gryffindor got the point.

Saint Potter smiled. "You'd rather be dead or in Azkaban, I take it."

Draco swallowed, hard. "Yes. Perhaps I would. I'm thinking about it."

Silence. Potter watched him, arms crossed, and an amused grin on his face.

"Well," prompted Potter after a minute or so. "Shall I leave, then, so you can rot in Azkaban for Godric knows how long?"

"It all depends on the likely sentence. If I were sentenced to get the Dementor's kiss, I'd become a shell of a human and that would be easier than owing you a life debt. However, if I am just sentenced to time in Azkaban, the Dementors would suck every happy thought out of me and just leave me with my personal nightmares – meaning I'd probably have to spend every waking moment dwelling on the fact that I am indebted to you, as that is the greatest horror in my life."

"I don't know why you hate me so much," Potter said, frowning. "I certainly have reason to hate you after all you did to me and my friends, and yet I don't. But what have I ever done to you?"

Oh, please. Where to start? "Sectumsempra anyone lately?"

"It was an accident," he said softly, and bloody hell, the green eyes got misty. "I didn't know what it would do – I was utterly horrified at the result."

"Hmph. So was I." Draco would not absolve Potter of the guilty feelings he apparently still carried about that day. Potter's frown and glistening eyes would not break him.

Unexpectedly, Potter chuckled. "Stroke of luck, really, that Snape was nearby. It was probably the only time in my life I was glad to see the man."

"Huh. He's the only one besides me who saw right through you."

Silence stretched between them for another long moment.

"Seriously, you'd rather be kissed by a Dementor than… by me?"

Potter wanted to kiss him! Draco stared at Potter's lips, so close to his own. "I didn't say that," he murmured. "I said I'd rather be kissed by a Dementor than saved by you yet again."

"Then it would be okay if I kissed you, so long as I give you to the Dementors after?"

"You're a pervert, Potter. Are you unable to focus on anything but my lips?" Dear Kettle, you're black. Love, Pot.

Potter rose on his toes just enough to plant a soft kiss on him, steadying himself with one hand on Draco's right hip. Damned if Draco didn't feel that zinging feeling again – the one from when he'd climbed onto the broom in the Room of Hidden Things. Draco pulled on every ounce of will he owned, and pushed Potter away.

"What the hell, Potter?" His voice was shaky.

"I did ask if it would be okay," said Potter, with his trademark grin. "And you didn't exactly say no."

"I believe I said you were a pervert."

"Yes, but from you, that seemed like it might be a compliment."

"You're a git, Potter."

"And you're an arrogant bastard." And Potter kissed him again – this time, with one hand in Draco's hair to draw Draco's mouth down to his own, and the other hand on his chest, under his open robe, stroking his left nipple through the fine Egyptian cotton of his dress shirt.

Draco moaned softly, and Potter took advantage of his parted lips to deepen the kiss.

When Potter came up for air, Draco gasped, and choked out, "What the fuck are you doing?"

"If you're not sure yet, I'll have to try harder to be clear," Potter said. His glasses were slightly fogged; his lips red from kissing. He reached down to Draco's belt, and deftly unbuckled it.

Draco yelped, and made indistinct noises of weak protest.

"There must be some way I can convince you that I'm serious."

Zip.

That was better. Draco's trousers were normally a rather loose cut, but seemed to have shrunk in the past few minutes.

"Some way I can show you that I mean what I say."

Potter dropped to his knees, and looked up at Draco with wide green eyes.

"Some way for you to believe that I'm not here to take from you, but to give to you."

Oh right. That was that other sign of the apocalypse: Harry Potter sucking his cock.

* * *

_A/N: Will the guard walk in to find our heroes in a compromising position? Will George find out that Charlie's not a natural redhead? Will Hagrid teach Grawp to knit sweaters? The answers to these and many more questions on the next episode of Soap! I mean, SoC!_

_House points to anyone who sees the wizard rock reference in our Author's Note!_


	3. Chapter 3: Falling Further

Standard Disclaimer: We do not own Harry or Draco, which – in our opinions – is a damned shame. We're not making any money from writing this story (another shame). Everything you recognize belongs to J.K. Rowling. The dirty parts belong to us!

_A/N: So we'd planned this to be four chapters – one for each season. But Fall has been so much fun, we're splitting it into two chapters (at least) to make it last longer._

_Special thanks to AliciaMarie4 for her input on Harry's diction, Felena's son for researching nitpicky details, and Michele for some as-yet unrecorded wizard rock lyrics that made it into our closing author's note._

**

* * *

Chapter Two: Falling Further**

"You… have a bit of chocolate… right there," Draco said, indicating on his own face the location of the last molecules of Potter's dessert.

Potter's tongue snaked out to clean his lower lip. Draco tried not to be too obvious about staring.

Ah, but that tongue. The first time Draco had ever gotten much of a glimpse of Potter's tongue had been a few weeks ago, just before his trial. Potter, in the most improbable of moves, had gotten on his knees, freed Draco's aching cock from his pants, and sucked him dry. Draco had only had blowjobs from one other source in his life: Pansy Parkinson. At the time, he'd thought she was doing a stellar job. Then Potter went down on him in the Ministry of Magic and his estimation of Pansy's skills dropped dramatically.

Where had Potter learned to give head like that? Fuck, it was incredible – the whole experience. Not just the feel of Potter's mouth on him, which was mind-blowing in its own right, but everything else, too. Potter's hands – clutching his hip, cupping his arse or his stones, or stroking what part of his cock would not fit in Potter's mouth. And the noises Potter had made! Not Pansy's exaggerated (and, he suspected, faked) "yum yum" noises, as if he were the most delicious thing she'd ever had in her mouth, but genuine moans and groans of need, echoing Draco's own vocalizations, and increasing in volume and frequency as Draco got closer to his climax (which, all things considered, didn't take long). But what utterly slayed Draco, what did him in more than anything else, was the sight of Potter on his knees, stroking Draco's erection. Licking up his length, and swirling around his head, before taking as much into his mouth as he could. It was the hottest thing Draco had ever seen.

When Draco came, his hands clutched in Potter's messy hair, Potter swallowed it all, and then rose to kiss Draco again.

"Fuck, Potter," Draco had gasped. Needing air, he pushed Potter off of him. "Holy shit."

Potter had blushed a deep shade of scarlet. "I'm, er… sorry," he said.

"Sorry?" Draco tried to make sense of what Potter was saying, but his brain seemed to have turned to mush.

"Yeah," said Potter. "I didn't come here intending to do that," he said. "I didn't even mean to kiss you. I just wanted to talk. I guess I got a bit carried away."

"A bit?" What was left of Draco's mind reeled. "A bit? You suck harder than Longbottom at Potions!"

"I've never done anything like that before," Potter continued. "I imagine I'll get better with practice, though."

Draco tried to imagine how it could get much better, and failed. Then he realized the implications of Potter's words. He intended to practice. On Draco. Draco's knees quivered.

But of course, Draco couldn't let that happen. It was…all kinds of wrong.

On the other hand, however, it was all kinds of right. The thrill of having Potter polish his knob before the trial had provided Draco with hours of fantasy material. And watching Potter sitting across from him in a candlelit French restaurant and licking chocolate from his lips was getting Draco hard all over again.

After the brilliant blowjob at the Ministry, Potter had cleaned them both up. Before Draco had recovered enough to really know what was going on, he was once again dressed impeccably, all tucked in and proper. Potter smoothed Draco's hair and his own (with much less of an effect on the latter), and brushed the dust from the knees of his slacks.

"Thank Merlin the guard didn't walk in just then," Potter said with a nervous laugh. "The Daily Prophet would have had a field day. But I think we're all cleaned up. No evidence of any misbehavior. Still, I'm not supposed to be in here. I'll see you in the courtroom, okay? It's going to be all right, Draco. Trust me."

He leaned forward as if to kiss Draco goodbye, thought better of it, whipped his cloak over his head, and slipped out of the room.

Twenty minutes later, Potter took the stand in the courtroom. He told the Wizengamot that although he and Draco had never been friendly in school, he believed that Draco should be spared from Azkaban.

"Yes," he conceded. "Malfoy did take the Dark Mark. But I firmly believe he has gotten a better idea of right and wrong since then. Starting with the night that Professor Dumbledore died, Draco Malfoy has shown a pattern of choosing what is right when the stakes are highest."

As evidence, he offered his memory that Draco had lowered his wand. He'd been unable to bring himself to murder Professor Dumbledore, even though he knew his actions would put him and his family in grave danger when Voldemort found out. The following year, Draco refused to positively identify any of the prisoners brought to Malfoy Manor at Easter. Hermione Granger had hit Potter with a Stinging Hex so that his face was difficult to recognize, but Draco wouldn't even confirm the identities of Granger, Ron Weasley, or Dean Thomas – none of whom had a disguise of any sort. And lastly, on the night that Voldemort fell, Draco had tried to stop Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle from killing Potter. And while Vincent Crabbe showed no hesitation to use the Killing Curse, Draco Malfoy never did.

The Wizengamot voted to spare Draco from Azkaban. However, testimony that he had used the Cruciatus curse under extreme duress won him a sentence of four hundred hours of community service, working as an aid at St. Mungo's. He had caused pain as a Death Eater. He would now work alongside the Healers to ease pain and bring people back to wholeness.

Draco met Potter's eyes across the room. He'd done what he said he'd do. And now, Draco was further indebted to him. He was done for. He was going to wind up as Potter's sex slave. The idea should have disturbed Draco more than it did.

After the trial, reporters from the Daily Prophet and the Quibbler cornered Potter and swept him away down the hallway.

Narcissa came down from her seat and went with Draco to reclaim his wand. Then they went home. And – except for an eight-hour shift at St. Mungo's each week for a year and his deepening debt to Potter – he was free.

Though he was still seeing Potter nightly in his dreams, and more and more frequently in his waking fantasies, Draco hadn't seen Potter in the flesh again until tonight. Potter had owled, inviting him to a celebratory dinner at an upscale Muggle restaurant in London, where they wouldn't be as subject to gawking. Draco had agreed to the dinner, but insisted that he choose the restaurant. He also chose the date – a full two weeks after the night Potter had suggested – in an effort to wrest some control of the situation. If Potter wanted to see him, he would just have to wait. Draco may be indebted to the black-haired do-gooder, but he refused to be at anyone's beck and call.

"Meet me in front of Malfoy Manor at seven sharp," he had written. "And do try to look presentable. The place I have in mind is very exclusive."

When Potter arrived, Draco hid his sharp intake of breath. Fuck all if Potter didn't clean up exceptionally well. He looked fine. He looked damned fine. He spread his arms wide and turned in a slow circle, offering his tailored black Muggle suit, emerald green silk shirt, and black tie for Draco's approval.

Why was the Paragon of Gryffindor wearing Slytherin green? Come to think of it… he'd been in green when he'd visited Malfoy Manor and returned Draco's wand.

And at the trial? Draco felt himself growing warm as he tried to picture what Potter had been wearing at the Ministry. In all honesty, Potter's clothing had been the least of Draco's concerns. He recalled the now well-worn memory of Potter on his knees, and attempted to notice something other than Potter's deep, passion-filled green eyes, messy black hair, and pink lips and tongue. To the best of his recollection, Draco decided Potter's shirt that day had been a sort of mossy color, but definitely in the green range. Curious.

"How did I do?" asked Potter, calling Draco back to the present.

Incredible. You were incredible. When can we do it again?

"The clothes, I mean," Potter added, as if he'd heard Draco's thoughts.

"They're awful," he said. It was a lie, and a mean-spirited one, but Draco was upset with himself for falling victim to Potter's dubious charms.

"Well, hell, Draco," Potter snapped. "It's the best I've got."

"Then it will just have to do," said Draco. "Luckily the restaurant's lighting is dim and no one will see the poor craftsmanship of your jacket."

"Where are we going?"

"Here," said Draco, pulling from his pocket a small silver plate engraved with the name "Intimité."

"French?"

"Very good, Potter," he drawled. "How did you ever figure that out?"

"Lucky guess. It's a Portkey?"

"Right. Our reservations are for 7:15. We've got about two minutes."

"It's a Wizarding restaurant? Is it in Diagon Alley somewhere? I've never noticed it."

"It's on the Left Bank," Draco said. "Here, take hold of the Portkey, or I'll be leaving you and your ill-fitted suit behind."

"Paris? You're taking me out to dinner in Paris?" Potter stood, eyes wide, arms limp at his sides.

"Yes, Potter, Paris. Now grab the damned Portkey, and quit gaping. It wouldn't hurt to cover up that famous scar of yours, either. I've paid the staff to keep their mouths shut, but I can't do anything about the other diners."

Potter closed his mouth, stepped closer, and closed his hand over Draco's. Draco's pulse went wild at the contact, and he nearly dropped the card.

Potter gave his hand a squeeze. "Don't worry, Draco," he said. "I won't bite."

Draco wasn't thinking about Potter biting. He was thinking about Potter kissing, licking, and sucking. After weeks of fantasizing about the way Potter had touched him the last time they were together, how could he be expected to keep his cool now? But he needed to do just that – he couldn't let Potter know he'd gotten to him.

Just as the Portkey engaged, Draco thought he heard Potter saying, under his breath, "…much…".

They landed with a slight jostle in the walled courtyard of an old, ivy-covered brick building with fairies lighting the trees.

"Bon soir, Monsieur Malfoy," said the woman at the door. She assessed Potter with a practiced eye as he tugged uselessly on his fringe. "Your table is waiting."

"Merci, Marvelle," Draco said, twisting the Malfoy family crest ring on his finger. Touching the ring always calmed Draco. It reminded him of who he was.

He followed the woman to the table he had requested, a fairly private spot in a rear corner. Potter trailed behind, and Draco was sure his mouth was hanging open again.

Draco took the lead, ordering their wine as well as their meals.

Potter waited until the waiter left. "Have you started your community service work yet?"

"I've been there once so far. Unless things improve dramatically next week, I might have been better off going to Azkaban. The place reeks. I suspect Peeves must have visited and told someone that hippogriff feces make an effective healing balm."

Potter laughed too loudly. Several heads turned in their direction. Draco dropped his head into his hands. Gryffindors. You couldn't take them anywhere. No decorum whatsoever.

"Sorry," Potter whispered. "You can't say things like that, though, if I'm not allowed to laugh."

"You are allowed to laugh, Potter. You are not allowed to bellow like a bicorn."

"Pardon me, then," said Potter, green eyes flashing behind his dark-rimmed spectacles, "for being amused at your joke."

Draco raised an eyebrow and replied drily, "Who said I was joking?"

The wine steward poured their drinks and left.

"To your freedom," said Potter, raising his wine glass.

"Freedom," echoed Draco. They clinked their goblets together, and each took a sip. It was really too rich that Potter should toast Draco's freedom. Draco may have avoided prison, but he was not free. St. Mungo's owned a seventh part of him for the next year, and Potter… Well, the blowjob had given Draco the distinct impression that Potter might be a benevolent master, but Draco hated feeling bound.

"So what are you going to do with it?"

"My freedom? I thought I'd go back to the classics. Kicking house-elves, tormenting Mudbloods…"

Potter shook his head. "I really hope you're joking now. I actually meant… you know, a job of some kind, or maybe some advanced training?"

"A job!" Draco chuckled, in spite of himself. "I haven't given it much thought yet. I suppose I might want one, at some point." Perhaps he hadn't given it much thought because his traitorous brain was otherwise occupied. Since their last meeting at the Ministry, Draco kept finding himself in different parts of the Manor with no recollection of how he got there. He'd begun daydreaming more than usual, possibly more than was healthy, and not paying any attention to where his feet took him.

The object of his daydreams, who seemed genuinely interested, was still interviewing him.

"What kind of work would you like to do?"

"I wouldn't LIKE to do any work at all. No one likes it – that's why it's called 'work', and not 'play'. And as such, I intend to avoid doing it for as long as possible."

The entrées arrived, rescuing Draco from further discussion of his lack of career goals.

Potter took a bite of his roast duck, and sighed. "This is excellent, Draco. How is yours?"

"Everything on the menu at Intimité is excellent, Potter. I would not come here, otherwise."

A smile spread slowly across Potter's face. "Thanks, Draco," he said.

"For what?"

"For taking me out to such a nice place." Potter gestured around him. "For sharing one of your favorite restaurants with me. This is a brilliant place to celebrate."

"Don't get too excited, Potter." Draco felt his face heating up, and hoped to hell he wasn't blushing. "It's just dinner."

"Fine," said Potter. "It's just dinner. In France."

Imbecile. Potter was acting like he was on a date.

Draco looked around the restaurant for the first time that evening, and suddenly became acutely aware that all the other tables for two were clearly occupied by dating or married couples.

So? It was a popular restaurant for romance. That was certainly not the reason Draco had selected it. He had merely chosen a place where Potter was less likely to be recognized, and where he knew the staff well enough to bribe them into silence. And of course, it had to be top notch, because Draco still took great pleasure in demonstrating to Potter that Malfoys have the best of everything, while losers like the Weasleys have the worst.

When Draco turned back to the table, he saw that Potter's eyes had followed the same path, scanning the amorous couples. His grin had widened. He was sure to be getting the wrong idea.

"And what about your job, Potter?" asked Draco, intending to steer the conversation back to safer ground. "Have you started your Auror training yet?"

Yes. That wiped the grin off Potter's face.

"Not yet," he said.

"You are still planning to become an Auror, aren't you?"

"Yeah, maybe," Potter said, setting down his fork and sitting back in his seat. "I've got a standing offer from Kingsley. But right now I'm just…taking some time off. It's hard to get excited about chasing after dark wizards."

And yet, Potter had seemed fairly excited to chase after Draco, though not in the same way.

"Pray tell, Potter, what else the great and noble hero of the Wizarding world thinks he might do for a living."

"Don't call me that," Potter said, his cheekbones highlighted with a red flush. "I hate it when people treat me like a big hero. It's awful feeling like everyone's watching me to see what I'll do next. I haven't got a clue what I'll do next." He frowned, and twirled his fork in his fingers. "Up until a few months ago, my entire life consisted of two things: school and Voldemort. And now....now they're both done. I just don't know..."

Draco watched as Potter attempted to return to his meal, tucking forlornly into his potatoes. A strange feeling swelled in Draco's breast. He had felt something similar for himself during his sixth year when all seemed so lost. It was a very odd feeling indeed to have that same feeling but directed at another person.

"You almost sound like you miss him," he said.

"Voldemort?" Potter looked up. "I don't miss him, no. Not exactly. Did you know I used to feel his feelings? Sometimes even see with his eyes? Once, I saw you Crucio some Death Eaters. I don't miss him. But everything does feel…emptier. Even my own brain."

Draco had not known about the strength of Potter's connection to the Dark Lord. He had assumed the Dark Lord had used some form of Legilimency to lure Potter to the Department of Mysteries, on that ill-fated night that his father had failed to retrieve the prophecy.

This news might help explain Potter's sudden fascination with Draco, however. He had become an adrenaline-junkie. As much as he claimed to want peace, his body didn't feel right when he wasn't under constant mental or physical attack by the Dark Lord. So he had felt compelled to spend more time around his old school enemy, just to feel normal.

Potter looked up from his meal with emerald fire in his eyes. "I am glad to have closed that whole chapter of my life. I've had enough darkness to last several lifetimes. I don't need Voldemort around to have a purpose in life. I can be perfectly happy without him. I AM perfectly happy without him."

"Okay, Potter," said Draco, in soothing tones. Potter's impassioned outburst had turned a few heads. "That's lovely. I'm thrilled for you."

"I just need a break, okay?" Potter continued, but more quietly. "And then I'll figure out what to do with my life."

"No need to get defensive, Potter," Draco assured him. "I have nothing against a man living a life of leisure for as long as he can get away with it. I intend to do the same thing, myself."

In the absence of treacle tart on the menu, Potter had selected something incredibly chocolatey for dessert. Draco opted for crème brûlée and a brandy, which he sipped quietly while Potter went on thinking aloud.

"Luckily," he was saying, "I don't really need an income just now. My parents left me a bit, and I've got a place to live."

"I heard. You inherited Grimmauld Place from Black… Not to mention the entire Black family fortune. You've even less need to work than I do." Draco swirled his brandy and chuckled. "My mother and Aunt Bellatrix were incensed that it should go to a… to you. Instead of staying in the family." Bellatrix was fucking insane. It had been frightening at the time to see her rage over Potter's inheritance, but now that she was safely dead, he was able to laugh about her extremism.

Potter blushed as he raised a forkful of chocolate torte to his mouth and let it melt on his tongue as he considered the circumstances that had brought him to home ownership. "At first, I didn't want the house," he said. "Just being there brought back some difficult memories. But… now I think I'll keep it. Sirius wanted me to have it. I've spent most of the summer trying to clean it up and make it more… comfortable."

"You're redecorating?" Draco laughed to think of the bog-standard décor that was the old home's destiny. "Shouldn't you hire out that work to someone who has some taste?"

"Like you?" Potter said with a pointed look as he licked his dessert fork. It was obscene.

"Not me," said Draco. "I told you, I have no interest in working. I have even less interest in working for you. But yes, I do have good taste."

"Yes," echoed Potter, licking his lips. "You certainly do have good taste."

Draco looked up sharply from his brandy. What did Potter mean by that? Draco was struck yet again with the image of Potter kneeling in front of him, and felt himself stiffen inside his trousers.

"I'd love to show you what I've done with the place," Potter said, "and get your opinion on a few things."

"Sure," said Draco, surprised to hear himself agreeing with Potter. It was just curiosity, of course. He was merely interested in seeing exactly what kind of decorating disaster Potter had visited on Draco's ancestral home. Like the way everyone had to look during Apparation training when someone accidentally splinched himself.

"Brilliant," said Potter, smiling broadly. "How about tonight, after dinner?"

"That works," said Draco. Just curiosity, that's all. About the décor – of course.

Draco sat back in his chair and sipped his brandy, watching Potter taking obscene pleasure in his chocolate torte. And he made damned sure Potter got every bite.

After dinner, Potter seemed in a rush to get them to his house. In no time at all, Potter was letting Draco in the front door of Number 12, Grimmauld Place, with an apology.

"It's still kind of a mess," he said. "It's a work in progress. I guess I've gotten used to the chaos, myself."

Draco paused at the doorstep. So Potter lived alone. Of course he lived alone. No parents, no grandparents, not even his godfather anymore, thanks to Draco's dear Aunt Bellatrix. Draco had never thought of Potter being alone before – he was always with Granger and the Weasel. But now… he was alone.

Correction – he was alone, with Draco. In an empty house. There was no one around to pass judgment or eavesdrop or watch what they said or did. Or stop them from it. Alone. Together.

"Perhaps I should come back when you are mphfmph," Draco said, because it was hard to talk with his mouth full… of Potter's tongue. He stopped trying and relaxed into the kiss. It felt brilliant to be so wanted – even if it was by Potter.

"No," said Potter, when he released Draco. "Stay."

Draco stepped over the threshold.

Potter lit the lamps and draped his suit jacket over a nearby armchair. "Do you…" He hesitated. "Can I, er, get you anything?"

"Got any firewhiskey?" Draco had a feeling he was going to need it.

"Yeah," said Potter, and laughed nervously. "I actually discovered a large stash of it up in Sirius's old bedroom."

Draco gestured toward the stairs, and gave Potter a look that clearly said, "Then what the fuck are you waiting for?"

Potter turned and started climbing, Draco following two steps behind.

He could have reached out and touched Potter's arse – it was right in front of his face.

No, he reprimanded himself. We are going upstairs… to the bedroom… merely because that is where Potter keeps his liquor. We're going to have a drink. And look at furniture.

Draco lost track of how many flights of stairs they had climbed, but eventually, Potter opened a door and stood back to let Draco enter.

Ugh. Draco had forgotten that Sirius Black had been a Gryffindor. The room was all done up in red and gold. This room was a greater mess than what he'd seen of the rest of the house so far – Potter seemed to have adopted this room as his own, and he really was a slob.

"Pardon the mess," Potter repeated self-consciously. He kicked a pile of clothing under the bed. "I'll… just get those drinks, shall I?"

He pulled a dusty bottle from the back of the wardrobe. Draco watched him move across the room to a low table, and conjure two glasses. As Potter bent to pour the drinks, Draco was seized with an impulse.

Without giving himself time to question it, he stepped forward, and put his right hand on Potter's arse. Potter stiffened for a moment, then continued to pour the second glass, his breathing audible in the silent old home. Draco began to move his hand, gently caressing the firm curve of Potter's bum. Potter's hand shook as he returned the bottle to the table. Draco smirked at his power over the Chosen One. Potter could face the Dark Lord time and again, but froze when Draco touched his arse.

"What's the matter, Potter?" he drawled. "I expected you would like being touched like that."

"I…do," Potter said, in a voice somewhat higher than usual. "I really do." He took a deep shuddering breath. "Why are you doing it?"

"You're being rather thick. I just said I thought you would like it."

"I know," Potter said. "But… is it just because you think you owe me? I- I don't want you doing anything you wouldn't do if there were no life-debt. I don't want it if it's not real."

Draco froze, his hand still cupping one firm buttock. An out. Potter had given him an out. All Draco had to do was say that was it – it was an attempt at repayment – and he could stop right where he was.

Instead, he said, "Potter, turn around."

When Harry Potter turned to face Draco, his face was pale, his jaw set, ready for the bad news. It never came.

Draco's hand strayed upward, over Potter's muscled back, and came to rest at the nape of his neck. He leant down and kissed Potter ever so softly.

"Promise me," Potter said. His eyes burned into Draco's. "Promise me you won't do anything just because of the debt."

"You talk too much, Potter," Draco said, and kissed him again.

* * *

_A/N: Will Harry and Draco ever look at the décor of Grimmauld Place? Will Draco help the St. Mungo's Healers discover a cure for Marietta Edgecombe's pimples? Will Tonks join Remus and the Whomping Willow for a "treesome"? The answers to these and many more questions on the next episode of Soap! I mean, SoC!_


	4. Chapter 4: Fallen

Standard Disclaimer: We do not own Harry or Draco, which – in our opinions – is a damned shame. We're not making any money from writing this story (another shame). Everything you recognize belongs to J.K. Rowling. The dirty parts belong to us!

_A/N: Special thanks to Albe-chan who helped brainstorm through an awkward transition in this chapter._

* * *

**Chapter Four: Fallen**

Kissing Potter was strange, no doubt about it, but far from unpleasant. Now that they were alone – really alone, with no chance of anyone walking in on them – Draco found that he was better able to stop judging himself for desiring Potter. It didn't matter so much that they had been enemies in school. It didn't matter that Potter was a Gryffindor, that his blood wasn't pure. I didn't even matter that he was… well… a "he."

What mattered was that Potter was warm and hard and kissing him back enthusiastically. He had been dreaming about the black-haired youth for months, and now he was here, in the flesh, moaning softly as Draco pulled him closer.

"Oh, God," Potter gasped, as their bodies made contact, and it became immediately evident that they were both aroused beyond reason.

Draco could feel Potter's cock through the fabric of his black suit trousers, and it inflamed his curiosity. Potter had seen (and felt, and tasted) Draco's cock at the Ministry, but the experience had been rather one-sided. And now Draco wanted – no, needed – to explore Potter's body.

His fingers flew to the buttons on Potter's silk shirt, fumbled with them. Potter grabbed at his own clothing and tore the shirt open, buttons flying, and then shrugged it off into a green puddle on the floor. Then Potter reached for the buttons on Draco's shirt, baring his chest as well.

Potter's torso was lean and chiseled, and slightly hairier than Draco's. His nipples were small and dusky, and Draco ran his thumbs across them, making Potter shiver. Potter responded to Draco's every touch with quivers and moans, and Draco found himself getting high on the power. He may have saved the Wizarding world, but at the moment, Potter was completely at Draco's mercy. Suddenly, Draco wanted him naked.

Potter didn't put up any resistance, and had soon stepped out of the rest of his clothing to stand before Draco, utterly vulnerable, his hard prick jutting out from dark curls atop muscular thighs. His pupils were wide and his breath came in ragged gasps.

"Now you," Potter rasped.

Draco laughed. "I don't think so, Potter. I'm not drunk enough yet for the full monty." He eyed the firewhiskey. He could get drunk enough. It probably wouldn't take much.

"Then keep it all on." Potter sighed heavily, and raked his eyes down Draco's still mostly clothed body. "I don't want it if it's not real," he repeated. "I don't want it if it's some sort of repayment for a debt you think you owe me, and I don't want it if it's because you're drunk."

"But you DO want it."

"God yes," Potter groaned.

"I'm not in the habit of giving you what you want, Potter."

"I know that," Potter said, stepping closer, naked, hard. "Do you think you could get in the habit of letting me give you what you want?"

Draco was so hard he was afraid if he moved too quickly he'd break it off. He swallowed, nodded. "It's the Malfoy way," he said, his voice tight.

"And tonight, you wanted me out of my clothes," Potter continued. "And here I am." He stepped closer still. "What else do you want?"

Draco was at an uncharacteristic loss for words – or, more precisely, he was at a loss for words he could actually speak aloud and maintain any dignity.

"I wanted some goddamned firewhiskey," he said, finally. "That is the reason I came up here in the first place, if you recall."

"What else, Draco? I was getting the firewhiskey, and you… touched me." Potter closed his eyes, took a deep shuddering breath. "You kissed me," he said, more softly. He took a final step to close the distance between them, pressing his hard nakedness into Draco. "You… undressed me." He pressed his palm against Draco's tented trousers, and raised his face to whisper into Draco's ear. "What else do you want, Draco?"

Draco felt lightheaded at Potter's nearness, his nakedness, and his apparent willingness to do whatever Draco wanted. If only he knew what he wanted! It was all so overwhelming, and his lust-clouded brain felt incapable of making any decisions. A big part of him wanted to throw Potter onto the floor and fuck him senseless. Another part of him realized there would be repercussions of such an act. He was unable to weigh the consequences. He couldn't think past the next five minutes, because surely, if he were to have sex with Potter, the world would end anyway.

"I want to go slowly, Potter," he managed. He pulled Potter into another kiss – a hot, needy kiss. A kiss that said anything but "let's take it slowly."

Draco trailed a hand down Potter's chest, stopping for a moment to rub across his nipple once more before continuing south to his navel, brushing against his erection. Potter whimpered and swiped a tongue over Draco's exposed nipple, further igniting Draco's lust. Potter's hands stroked their way down Draco's body, teasing the sensitive flesh of his lower abdomen.

"God, Draco," moaned Potter against Draco's chest. "Can I at least…" His hands moved to Draco's belt.

Draco held his breath, nodded slightly. Potter opened Draco's trousers, slid his hand into his pants. Almost simultaneously they reached for each other's straining cocks, and both gasped at the sensation.

When his hand closed around the Chosen One's prick, Draco thought he might just explode. But this was not the time to lose control. He wanted to be in control – of Harry Potter.

But control was going to be difficult to maintain. Potter was looking up at him, green eyes dark with need, and begging, "Please, Draco. Take them off. I know you want it as bad as I do."

God, it was true. Even if Potter had never saved his life, never kept him from Azkaban. Even with the firewhiskey still in the fucking glasses on the table. He wanted to get out of his clothes. Wanted nothing between him and Potter.

Draco toed off his shoes. Removing his shirt would mean releasing Potter's cock, and Draco wasn't letting go. It would have to stay. With his free hand, he pushed his trousers and pants down his thighs. Potter made a gurgling sound in the back of his throat as he used his spare hand to help him slide them down far enough to step out of them.

Now clad only in his socks and his unbuttoned shirt, Draco was able to feel the heat of Potter's flesh pressed hard against him.

"So much better," Potter mumbled against Draco's chest, his tongue and teeth seeking nipple again.

Draco had been a passive participant, for the most part, in the incident at the Ministry. But as always when it came to Potter, Draco wanted the upper hand. The time had come to show Potter who was in charge. He redoubled his focus on what he was doing, rather than on what was being done to him, and began stroking Potter's cock in a torturously slow rhythm.

"Holy fucking mother of god," Potter groaned, his eyes fluttering shut again.

Draco was both amused and enormously turned on to learn that the noble Gryffindor had such profanity in his vocabulary.

"Shit," Potter said, "Draco, oh shit, I'm going to…" And he did.

Draco had been watching Potter's face, but looked down just in time to see the milky spurt of Potter's semen, and Potter's hand clamped tight over Draco's own cock. That was all it took to send Draco over the edge right along with him. "Fuck, Potter," he cried, coating Potter's hand and belly in hot fluid.

"Damn," Potter said a moment later, with a sheepish grin. "That didn't take long." He took a short, unsteady step backward, dug his wand out of the pile of his clothing, and cleaned them both up.

Draco stayed silent, and attempted to stop his body from shaking with aftershocks of his orgasm.

"Jesus," Potter said, eyes sliding up and down Draco's nearly naked body. "I always knew you'd be perfect under those clothes."

Always knew it? How long had The Chosen One been imagining Draco naked, anyway?

Leaving that issue aside for the moment, Draco attempted to regain a modicum of cool. He shrugged, as if he hadn't just cried Potter's name and come all over him, and gestured toward the firewhiskey. "So you dragged me all the way up here just to give you a handjob? Or are we going to get on with those drinks?"

Potter turned toward the table, and chuckled. "I suppose…." He lifted the two glasses, handed one to Draco.

"You suppose what?" Draco took a sip. It burned pleasantly on the way down.

"I suppose," Potter said, taking an enormous chug from his own glass, "that I can let you have your drink now."

"Let me?"

"Yeah. Now that I know… now that we've… without it."

Draco tossed back the rest of his firewhiskey in one gulp. God, he had been sober. A little wine with dinner, true. A little brandy with dessert. But he hadn't felt even a slight buzz when they'd arrived at Grimmauld Place. He'd stroked off Harry Potter – sober. Voluntarily.

He needed another drink. He extended his glass and Potter refilled it with a rather Malfoy-esque smirk.

Potter cleared his throat. "Well," he said. "Now that we've taken the, er, scenic route… shall we carry on with looking at the house?"

Two options presented themselves immediately to Draco. To his left was an enormous bed, and in front of him, a naked Potter. And he'd just downed a fair quantity of firewhiskey, which absolved him of some responsibility. He could always blame his actions on the alcohol, later. To his right was the door, and the rest of the house beyond.

Draco's lust was sated, at least for the moment, and he was not desirous of making Potter feel irresistible. He turned away from the bed. "Yes," he said. "Show it to me now – while we're both still able to walk." His knees were a still a little wobbly, even now.

Potter's jaw dropped open quite satisfactorily. Draco loved that he was able to shock the Gryffindor.

"I thought you wanted to take it slow," said Potter, when he'd recovered himself. "Not that I'm complaining."

"So let's take the tour," said Draco, heading for the door. "That'll slow things down, unless you were planning to molest me in every room along the way."

Potter laughed. "The thought had occurred to me," he said. "But hold up a minute, okay?"

He conjured two silken robes, and handed Draco the forest green one. "You might want to wear this," he said. "This house had a lot of dark items in it when I inherited it. I've tried to take care of all the dangerous hexes but there may still be some nasty ones hanging about that could do a number on... sensitive areas." He slipped a ruby red robe over his own shoulders, tied it at his waist, and led the way into the hall. "Since we're up here already, maybe we should start at the top and work our way down?"

"Either way," said Draco. Potter could start anywhere he wanted, so long as he worked his way toward the middle.

"Well, unless you want to see the attic, which I don't really recommend, this is the top floor."

"What's in the attic?" asked Draco, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"Not much," said Potter. "A big empty room that still smells of hippogriff no matter how many cleaning charms I use on it, and a storage room where I've been shoving things if I can't remove the curses on them."

"Why does the one room smell like…?" Draco shook his head. "Never mind. Perhaps it's better if I don't know." He had once suffered a heinous and unprovoked attack in which a hippogriff tried to violently remove his arm. The same hippogriff, of course, had treated Potter like a god, taken him for a soar around the school grounds. Yet another example of how Potter had figured into everything bad that had happened to him. He scowled, and stroked the arm he nearly lost to the beast.

Potter laughed. "Yes, perhaps it is better if you don't. We'll just avoid the attic, yeah?" He opened a door across the landing. "This used to be the room of Sirius's younger brother, Regulus. I haven't done much with this one, yet."

"Hideously dusty, but nicer than the room we were just in," said Draco, entering the room and casting a critical eye over the antique furniture.

"I knew you'd like this one better," chuckled Potter. "The color scheme is far more your style. Regulus was a proper Black, sorted into Slytherin."

Draco turned back to his tour guide, eyebrow raised in a challenge. "I'm a bit surprised you haven't moved into this room instead, Potter. And that you conjured a red robe for yourself instead of a green one."

Potter stiffened; Draco had apparently touched a nerve. "What the hell are you talking about? You think just because I'm spending time with you I must have chucked my house loyalty?"

"You've been wearing green every time I've seen you lately." Draco leaned against one of the bedposts, and fingered the rich green hangings. "It's too much to be coincidental. I assumed that now you're out of school and can dress how you want, you've been showing your true colors. I've always said you were more Slytherin than you let on, Potter."

Potter went slightly paler. Draco waited, brushing a green tassel from the four-poster across his palm. He was in no hurry.

"The Sorting Hat tried to put me in Slytherin," he said, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. "But I told it I didn't want that, so it put me in Gryffindor."

He told it? And it listened? Even objects treat Harry Potter as though he is special?

"Dumbledore said that when I pulled Gryffindor's sword out of the hat in the Chamber of Secrets it proved I was a Gryffindor at heart," Potter continued, speaking more to himself than to Draco. "But there was that whole Parselmouth thing…"

That "whole Parselmouth thing" had been fucking weird. When Draco had shot a snake out of his wand at Potter in the dueling club, and he'd SPOKEN to the thing, Draco had nearly fallen over in surprise.

"I think it was just because I was carrying around a bit of Voldemort's soul, without knowing about it. So now that bit of him is gone from me, maybe I'm less Slytherin than I used to be, and more of the Gryffindor I always felt like I was pretending to be."

"You were carrying a bit of his soul?" Disgusting. Draco sat on the bed, too. "When did you find out?"

"That night… Snape told me just before he died. Dumbledore had figured it out, and Snape was in on it. They didn't tell me. They both thought I'd have to be killed to make Voldemort mortal again, and they didn't want me to know."

"Holy shit," said Draco. Dumbledore always acted like he loved Potter. Apparently, their relationship was complicated. Maybe he favored Potter to ease his guilt about having to sacrifice him down the road.

They were silent for a while, while Draco tried to absorb all he'd just heard.

"But you didn't have to die," Draco said finally. "They had it wrong." If Draco could trust his senses, Potter was very much alive, his warm body right next to Draco's.

"Yeah, I think actually that bit of Voldemort's soul saved me. I went into the Forbidden Forest to let him kill me, once I knew it was in me and that it had to be destroyed. Somehow, when he fired Avada Kedavra at me it was just the bit of his soul in me that was killed. It knocked me out. He thought I was dead, and your mother covered for me. If he'd hit me again, I probably would have died."

Potter had walked into the Forest to sacrifice himself so that the Dark Lord could be killed. Draco couldn't imagine that kind of bravery. It was typical Potter, though, to intend to sacrifice himself and somehow come out of it alive.

"So he didn't know it was in you, I guess, or he wouldn't have been trying to kill you, right?"

"He didn't know," said Potter, shaking his head, and looking again into Draco's eyes. "Somehow he'd transferred some of it to me the first time he tried to kill me, and his soul was already so damaged from killing that he didn't even realize another piece of it had gone missing. But somehow I'd always known there was something wrong with me. I hoped no one in Gryffindor could tell. I pretended to be just like them."

"I don't think they knew," Draco said. "You acted like a typical Gryffindor most of the time." He paused, considering. "I didn't know that you almost wound up in Slytherin," he added. "That would have been… different." Would they have been friends? Salazar's shorts, they'd have been sleeping in the same dorm for seven years. Sharing a Quidditch pitch locker room. God only knows what would have happened.

"No one knew," said Potter. "I never told anybody." He stared into space again. "Well, I told Dumbledore, but I know he kept my secret. He was really good at keeping secrets." He shook his head, as if shaking away cobwebs. "I think maybe that's one reason you bothered me so much," he continued. "You represented everything Slytherin to me, and I wanted to prove to myself, and everyone else, that I had nothing in common with you. So whatever you did, or said, I did the opposite. Every time you insulted a Weasley, for instance, it just bound me tighter to them."

Perfect. Draco was responsible for sending Potter into the arms of the Weaslette? He deserved better than her. "If I'm to blame for that," he said with a sneer, "I'm truly sorry."

"No," said Potter. "I liked them from the start for all kinds of reasons, and still do. They're like the family I never had. Still, all your digs made me even more fiercely protective of them."

They sat in silence once more. So Potter had Dark Lord soul in him, had nearly been sorted into Slytherin, and had denied the Slytherin in him by actively opposing Draco. And now the bit of darkness had been destroyed, and Potter wasn't sure what was left.

"Well, have you tried speaking Parseltongue since the Dark Lord fell? That might give you some clue as to how much Slytherin is still in you."

Crap. Draco usually edited himself before he spoke, and he wished he'd not let his guard down. As his unfortunate phrasing echoed in the silence, Draco's brain created an image of himself trying to find out just how much Slytherin could fit into Potter. He felt himself heat up.

"Yeah," said Potter, his eyes on his bare feet. "I've tried it. I can still do it, but it doesn't come as easily now."

"Show me," said Draco.

He wished he'd been the Parselmouth. His father would have been so proud. But no – of course. It was Potter. Draco didn't want to have to carry around a bit of Dark Lord soul for the privilege of communicating with snakes, but it was a pretty fucking awesome skill.

"I need a snake," said Potter. "I can't just do it. I need a snake to speak to."

Holy shit, if that didn't make Draco half-hard again. The words, "I've got your snake right here," formed in his head, but Draco clamped his lips together and remained silent.

"There's got to be one around here, somewhere," said Potter. "Find something with a Slytherin crest on it."

There would be no hiding half a woody in the flimsy silk robe, so Draco folded his arms in his lap and searched the room from his seated position. "Check the closet," he said. "Maybe some of his school things are still in there."

Potter crossed the room, and then returned with a Hogwarts-issue Slytherin robe in his hands. He sat on the bed next to Draco again, and raised the green and silver house crest stitched over the robe's left breast to eye level. He took a deep breath. And then he did it. His eyes went sort of unfocused, and his voice came in soft, hissing syllables that rolled off his supple tongue.

It was dead sexy. Draco's flag went from half-mast to fully flying.

Potter dropped the robe onto the floor, and dropped his head into his hands. "I don't know why I can still do it," he said. "It shouldn't be in me anymore."

"It's okay, Potter," Draco said, not sure at all why he was comforting Potter, except that maybe someone who'd tried to die to save others deserved some comfort. "It's just… residue or something. A little reminder of the past, like a… like a…"

"Like a what?" Potter raised his head from his hands to look at Draco – and his eyes fell on Draco's lap.

The robe had slipped as his erection grew, and Draco was suddenly aware that he was exposed.

"Like a… scar," Draco murmured. "As if you didn't already have one."

"You liked that?" Potter's hand strayed to Draco's upper arm, followed it down to where it was doing a lousy job of hiding Draco's reaction to the Parseltongue demonstration.

Draco wanted to deny it, but knew he'd look like a fool if he lied so obviously. "Maybe you don't want to lose the Parseltongue entirely, Potter," he admitted.

"Maybe I don't," Potter repeated, sliding off the bed and getting on his knees between Draco's legs. He slipped his hand up Draco's thigh until he was once again holding Draco's cock.

Draco moved his arms, giving Potter better access, and, having nowhere else to put them, rested them on Potter's shoulders.

Potter lowered his face, his breath warm on Draco's cock, sending shivers down Draco's spine. And then he did it again – the low, soft hissing rising and falling as Potter's hand began to stroke slowly up and down.

Draco closed his eyes and shuddered. Dear fucking Merlin, Potter was actually doing it. He was charming Draco's snake. And then, oh fuck, the noises stopped – because Potter's mouth was on him, hot and wet, and sliding up and down his swollen prick.

"Fuck, Potter," Draco groaned. "Oh my fucking god, yes." His hands found their way somehow to Potter's head, and his fingers knotted into Potter's hair. He urged the Parselmouth down further, and gasped as Potter took practically his entire cock into his mouth. "Take it all, Potter," he said, his voice thick with lust. And Potter complied, with a possessive growl that shook Draco to his core. And soon, too soon, because he wanted the feeling to go on forever, Draco couldn't contain himself any longer. He came hard, deep into Potter's throat. Potter greedily swallowed it, and then licked Draco's softening shaft clean as Draco fell back, panting, on the bed.

"Thank you," Potter said.

Draco opened his eyes, stared at the green hanging over him. "Thank me?" Shouldn't he be the one…?

"Yeah," said Potter. "I've never felt anything positive about being a Parselmouth until just now. It was just one more thing that made me different from everyone else, and not in a good way. But now…"

Draco propped himself up on his elbows to look at Potter, and nearly laughed when he saw what could only be described as a naughty grin on that previously hated face.

"Now that I see it's got some value," Potter said, straightening his red robes over his own now-visible erection. "Now that I see it's got a practical application…."

"Yes?" prompted Draco, grinning as well.

"Well, perhaps I'll just have to practice it now and then to make sure I don't lose it."

"Excellent plan," said Draco. "You'll just have to keep a snake handy to practice on."

Potter raised an eyebrow. "Volunteering for duty?"

"All for a good cause," said Draco. "What… When you were speaking Parseltongue just then, what were you saying, anyway?"

"When I was talking to the snake on the robe," said Potter, blushing, "I was telling it to look at my beautiful new friend."

"Friend? Me?" The night could scarcely get any weirder. Potter had gotten him off twice in the space of twenty minutes, and was now calling him a friend. And a beautiful one, at that.

"Well, I thought I might be jumping the gun just a bit to call you my lover."

Draco groaned. If it were possible to get hard again just then, he would have. He stood. "You're killing me, Potter."

Potter smirked, as though he knew a particularly juicy secret.

"What?" said Draco.

"When I was talking to… the other snake," Potter said, "I said…"

"What?" Draco repeated.

"Well," said Potter, turning toward the door, "perhaps some things are better left unsaid."

Draco knew he shouldn't do it, but he couldn't stop himself. He grabbed Potter by the hand and spun him back around. "You said what, Potter: tell me."

"I said," said Potter, his face crimson – almost as red as the robe, "You look delicious and I want to eat you. I'm going to lick you and suck you until you can't take it anymore."

"Fuck," said Draco, and he sat back on the bed, as his knees had just given out on him.

"You asked," said Potter. He pulled on Draco's hand and led him out of the room.

Draco was in a daze for most of the rest of the tour. He vaguely registered that the house actually didn't look too bad. It was neither decorated in Late Twentieth-Century Muggle, nor in High Gryffindor.

Speaking of which… They'd made it down to the first floor landing when Draco realized he'd never gotten an answer.

"So why is it that you're wearing so much green lately?" he asked. "Are you doing it for me?"

Potter laughed as he headed down the stairs toward the ground floor. "No," he said. "Sorry, it's not for you. Well, not exactly."

"What does that mean?" Draco stood at the top of the staircase.

"Well, I did wear them for you because they're fairly new, and some of the nicest things I own. But not because they're green and you're a Slytherin." He was halfway down the stairs.

"Hey," Draco called, "What happened to the house-elf heads?"

Potter stopped mid-step. He turned around. "How did you know about the house-elf heads?"

"I came here a couple of times as a boy," Draco explained. "Family gatherings, while I had some aunts and uncles still living here. I always hated those damned creepy heads mounted on this staircase."

"Me, too," said Potter. "I put them in storage in the attic. I didn't know you'd been here before. I hope the tour hasn't been too boring."

Draco walked down to join Potter, and they took the remaining steps together. "Totally boring," said Draco. "You're the worst tour guide ever." He kissed Potter again when they reached the ground floor.

Potter kissed him back, reaching up to run his fingers through Draco's hair.

After a minute or two or ten, Draco pulled away. "So why is it that all your nice, new things are green, exactly?"

"Not going to let it go, are you?"

Draco grinned. "No."

"They're gifts."

"From your admiring public?"

"Just one admirer, actually."

"And who might that one admirer be?" Draco heard the note of jealousy in his own voice, and hated it. What did he care if some anonymous person was sending Potter emerald green dress shirts, forest green tee shirts, and mossy button-downs?

Potter sighed, and sank onto a settee in the foyer. "Ginny Weasley," he said.

"The Weaslette?" What the fuck? "Where did she find the galleons to buy you a new wardrobe? And why the hell does she keep buying you green clothing?"

As soon as he'd asked the question, Draco knew the answer.

"Because she says they bring out my eyes," said Potter. "And not that it's any of your business, but she helped out George and Ron in the joke shop all summer, and George paid her well. I do fear she spent it all on me, though."

Awkward. Draco took the seat next to Potter. They sat, naked under their silk robes, having gotten rather intimate with each other's bodies, while the echo of Potter's girlfriend's name hung in the air between them.

"You're still seeing her, then?"

"Not at the moment," Potter said. "She went back to Hogwarts on the Express with everyone else. I haven't seen her for over a month."

That was not what Draco meant, and he felt sure that Potter knew it. He wanted to know if the Weaslette still thought of Potter as her boyfriend, and, more importantly, if Potter still thought of her as his girlfriend. He could not bring himself to ask. It would almost definitely come out sounding needy, and a Malfoy should never sound needy. It was unbecoming.

"She owls quite a bit, I expect."

"A few times a week, generally."

"I see." It was all Draco could think of to say. He knew he had absolutely no business being jealous or possessive. So why was he feeling that way? He glanced around the foyer, because he could not meet Potter's eyes.

"Potter?" he asked, after several seconds.

"What?"

"Why is my Great Aunt Walburga gagged in that portrait? And shaking her fist at us?"

Potter laughed uproariously. When he recovered enough to speak, he explained. "The gag was Hermione's suggestion. Your Great Aunt's portrait used to shriek the most awful things at anyone she didn't like – including me, but especially Hermione, because she's Muggle-born. It got pretty tiresome, and one day, I just yelled back at the portrait, 'Put a sock in it, Walburga!' Hermione thought it was a great idea. She found a very skilled artist to add the gag. Apparently, as long as it was done in the same kind of paints and the same style as the original painting, she can't take it off. So she's still pissed as hell that I own the house now, but at least I don't have to listen to her anymore."

Draco raised his eyebrows in amusement. "Want to give her something to really be upset about?"

"Are you thinking what I think you're thinking?"

"Could be." Draco rose and pulled Potter to his feet. He took him by the hand and led him over to the portrait.

"Look, Great Aunt Walburga," he said. "I'm kissing a half-blood." And he did. The old broad looked like she was going to burst a blood vessel.

Potter giggled at first, but when Draco slipped his tongue between Potter's open lips, he stopped laughing and gave a very gratifying moan.

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_A/N: Will Draco move into Grimmauld Place with Harry? Will Blaise Zabini become America's Next Top Model? Will Ginny Weasley be elected Hogwarts's first ever Homecoming Queen? The answers to these and many more questions on the next episode of Soap! I mean, SoC!_


	5. Chapter 5: Winter

Standard Disclaimer: We do not own Potter or Draco, which – in our opinions – is a damned shame. We're not making any money from writing this story (another shame). Everything you recognize belongs to J.K. Rowling. The dirty parts belong to us!

_A/N: Dear readers: We are concerned for your health. We tend to post pretty late at night, and yet we still find tons of new hits when we wake up in the morning! Do you get enough sleep? Stay healthy! We love you! Yours, WordNerds2008_

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Chapter Five: Winter**

Looking back, Draco had to admit that his life was practically perfect that fall, except for his weekly community service stint at St. Mungo's. Come winter, though, and Draco's life was back to the usual shite. Only worse, because he'd had everything. And he'd lost it.

"Everything," of course, meant Harry Potter.

Intimité. The restaurant was aptly named. They dined there once and… voila: intimacy. From that evening on, Draco and Harry been practically inseparable for the next nine weeks and four days. Not that Draco had counted.

Sometime over the course of that first night together, maybe during Draco's fourth or fifth orgasm, "Potter" had become "Harry." Harry loved it. The name fell from Draco's lips in an unguarded moment, and then he felt obliged to keep using it. It felt odd on Draco's tongue at first, but not for very long. A lot of things were new, that night. A lot of things that, before that night, had been unthinkable – but that quickly began to feel perfectly natural.

Sex, of course, topped the list. He had been sure the world would end if he had sex with Harry Potter, but – incredibly – it didn't. Draco was utterly relieved to find that no cataclysmic explosion had blown the earth to smithereens. Oh, there were explosions – but at a personal level only. The cosmos didn't seem to care. As far as Draco could tell through the haze of endorphins, the planet still spun on its axis, still orbited the sun. Draco suddenly realized he was free – free to have sex with Harry as often as he liked.

In gratitude, perhaps, for this unexpected license, Draco suffered a moment of uncharacteristic charity. He volunteered to take a shot at lifting the curses and hexes on some of the items stored in the attic of Grimmauld Place.

"You really want do that for me?" Harry had asked.

"No," Draco lied. "I learned a lot while working on that vanishing cabinet in the Room of Hidden Things. I'd just like to test myself against whatever curses are hiding up there."

"Fine," Harry said, rolling his eyes, and continuing to trace lazy circles around Draco's left nipple with his index finger. "The attic is stuffed. You might wind up spending an awful lot of time here…."

Under the circumstance, spending an awful lot of time at Grimmauld Place didn't sound so bad. Draco nodded. "I might. Curse-breaking can be tedious work."

Harry laughed, and his sparkling green eyes seemed even brighter when the famous glasses were on the bedside table. Draco had never noticed before what long, thick eyelashes Harry had.

"I'll make sure you take regular breaks," Harry said. "For meals, and, you know… recreation. You know what they say about all work and no play…"

Draco knew the saying. He had no intention of becoming a dull boy. And if the rest of the night was any indication, he had nothing to worry about.

When Draco woke the next morning in Harry's bed, surrounded by Gryffindor red, he realized that his mother would be in a panic because he hadn't come home. He almost felt guilty about it, until a sleep- and sex-rumpled Potter rolled over to say good morning, sporting an impressive case of morning wood.

An hour later, he owled her an understated message, telling her not to worry, and that he was fine. He did not tell her where he was, although she had known about his dinner plans with Harry at Intimité, and, not being stupid, would doubtless have guessed his whereabouts correctly.

"Were you serious last night?" Harry asked him, as Kreacher, the house-elf, served breakfast.

Draco looked up in alarm. What had he said? He hadn't proposed marriage, or anything stupid like that, had he?

Harry laughed. "About breaking curses on the stuff in my attic."

Draco, relieved, stuffed some sausage in his mouth and nodded. He was ravenously hungry – probably because he couldn't ever remember getting so much exercise in a twelve-hour period before, even in pre-season Quidditch training.

"I've done all I can do with it," Harry said, "so I'd be glad to have you take a look. Hermione came over a lot this summer, and we went through every book in the library that looked like it might be at all helpful. We had a little success, but not enough to make much of a dent in the piles of stuff up there."

"Then you are lucky to have me on the project," said Draco. "Father has the most extensive collection of books about dark magic in all of England. Borgin used to send him a personal note whenever someone brought in another ugly old book full of obscure curses."

"Oh, and I'm sure he would love the idea of you using his collection to help me," Harry laughed.

"What Father doesn't know won't hurt him," said Draco, with a shrug. "Not a lot he can say about it from Azkaban, is there?" But the irony of using his father's obsession to help his half-blood lover restore the house that should by all rights have added to the Malfoy fortune was not lost on Draco. It gave him a perverse sense of pleasure to imagine the old man's impotent rage, were he ever to find out.

When Harry's new owl, a Great Gray named Baldur, returned from Malfoy Manor, Draco sent it off again – this time to Borgin & Burke's, instructing them to reinstate notifications of new books of interest, as he was taking over his father's collection while his father was away.

They spent the rest of the morning indulging in more carnally pleasurable pursuits. In the afternoon, Draco went up to the attic to assess the workload and make a start.

The work was complicated, but he loved it. The wizards who had placed those dark spells had been cunning, and Draco had to be more cunning still to figure out what they had done, and then to find a way to undo it. Every item he could clear would be proof to him of his own superiority. Curse-breaking, it turned out, was an extremely gratifying pursuit.

Several days later, when Draco had first gone back to Malfoy Manor to gather additional resources, he had expected disapproval from his mother. Although she did not seem to hate Harry as much as his father did, she probably didn't like how much time her son was spending with the Gryffindor.

Having learned in many a Quidditch match that a good offense is the best defense, he spent his entire visit telling her about the work he was doing, and barely mentioned Harry at all. He told her over lunch that the experience was good training for a potential future career. His enthusiasm infected even his normally reserved mother.

"I'm pleased to see you so excited about a project, darling," she told him. "I haven't seen you look this happy for years." She raised her eyebrow, giving him a knowing look. "Whatever you two are up to over there must be good for you."

She made him promise to have lunch with her at least once a week for the duration of the "project," and he readily agreed. And that was that – Narcissa had given her blessing.

And so Draco happily spent most of October and November working as an unpaid curser-breaker in the stinky attic of his former enemy. Harry was a benevolent master: Draco got three square meals and tea every day, massages, hot baths, and lots of sex.

Harry did not appreciate the title, however, when Draco teased him with it during a massage one evening. "I'm nobody's master, Draco," he insisted. "You're here of your own free will, and free to drop the project anytime you like."

"Is that what you want?" Draco lay naked, face down on the bed, while Harry massaged his neck and shoulders after a long day in the attic. He'd removed a tricky hex from a coat rack, and now Harry's visitors would be able to hang their robes without fear of injury. "Do you want me to go?" He already knew the answer.

Harry's hands stopped moving. "No."

"What do you want, Harry?"

"I want you to stay."

"Then I'll stay," Draco said, and Harry resumed kneading his tired muscles.

Draco's days at St. Mungo's were the only real dark spot in his existence. What made them bearable was looking forward to his return to Grimmauld Place. Harry would run him a hot bath, and help him wash off the grime and stench of the hospital. It almost made it worthwhile.

One such evening in late October, while Harry was scrubbing his back, Draco thought to ask about Harry's day.

"Pretty good," said Harry. "I took Teddy to the zoo."

"Teddy?" Who was this Teddy, and why was Harry taking him anywhere?

"Teddy Lupin, Draco. My godson. Your cousin."

"Oh." Draco relaxed again, slipping deeper into the warm, soapy water. "He's just a baby, right? Isn't he a bit young for the zoo?"

"He's six months old, yeah. And I don't know how much he gets out of the zoo itself, you're right. I do know he gets something out of being with me, though, and I like the zoo. Actually, he does laugh when I talk to the snakes and they do tricks for him."

Draco felt himself stiffen instantly. "You speak to the snakes at the zoo?"

"Sure," laughed Harry, and he gave Draco's earlobe a nibble. "You did say you wanted me to keep in practice, didn't you?"

Draco turned around to face him, and put Harry's hand on his now fully erect cock. "Take me to the zoo with you next time," he purred. "I want to see you charm a giant python."

"You sure?" asked Harry, giving him a squeeze. "The zoo is packed with Muggles."

"If you're speaking Parseltongue, I don't think I'll notice the Muggles."

Harry laughed, and hissed in Draco's ear, making him groan.

"Or maybe I'll just get rid of the Muggles," Draco said. "I'll want no witnesses when I shag you rotten in the middle of the reptile house."

"No shagging at the zoo," teased Harry. "And no frightening off the Muggles. We'll have to be good role models for Teddy."

"Oh, right," said Draco. "I knew I was forgetting about something."

"I'll take some credit for that," said Harry, giving Draco's cock a devilish stroke with a twist at the end. "Give me another half an hour, and I'll make you forget your own name."

"You're on," gasped Draco.

Harry led him out of the bath, and dried him off very thoroughly, all the while speaking to Draco's python. Sure enough, when Harry finally thrust his cock into Draco's quivering body, Draco was utterly incoherent.

It was a chilly day at the zoo, which was just as well. They had to put a hat on Teddy to hide his changing hair color. And Harry insisted on some mild glamour charms to disguise himself and Draco.

"They're all Muggles, Harry," said Draco, pulling at his trimmed blond beard. "Who's going to recognize us?"

"I know I'm being paranoid," Harry admitted. "But I can't take any chances of anyone seeing us together."

Draco's stomach clenched like a fist. "No, I'm sure you're right," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "We can't have the Gryffindor hero spotted in public with a former Death Eater."

Harry stretched up to kiss him. "Don't be like that, Draco. You know I can't let my friends find out about us from reading it in the Daily Prophet. I've got to tell them myself."

Finally, Draco had to concede that Harry had a point. But that didn't mean he had to like sneaking around like Harry's dirty little secret.

Draco didn't bring the topic up again for a couple of weeks, during which he and Harry took Teddy to an aquarium to look at the fish, and for a stroll through a park in a Muggle area, again with glamour charms.

But as Harry was applying the glamour charms for their fourth outing, a tour boat ride on the Thames with baby Teddy, Draco scowled.

"What?" Harry wanted to know.

"How many wizards are going to take a fucking sightseeing cruise on the Thames, Harry?"

"Watch your language around Teddy, will you? And no, it's hard to imagine we'd be spotted. I know. But I can't risk it until I've broken the news personally to my friends."

"So say something already! You get owls from them all the damned time. What the hell are you telling them in your replies?"

Harry shook his head in amazement. "Tell them by owl? No, no – I've got to tell them in person. Face to face. That's just not the kind of bomb you drop via owl post."

"Lovely," said Draco. "I'm a bomb to be dropped. News to be broken. You really know how to make a guy feel wanted." He stalked out the door.

Harry stood in the doorway. "Draco, cut it out. You know I want you. But you've got to look at things from my friends' point of view. To them, yeah – you're bad news. I know I can bring them around, but it's going to take some time, and it'll be easier to do if they can see us together. See how happy we are."

At the moment, Draco wasn't happy. "I can't stand this sneaking around, Harry. It's like I'm an outcast from Wizarding society. We're doing all this Muggle shit with the kid – it doesn't make any sense. You want him to know you, but you're hiding who you are, staying away from anything magical, and not even looking like yourself."

"It's just for a little while longer, Draco," said Harry, not even bothering to correct Draco's language. "Just give me until the Christmas break, when Ginny and Hermione and Luna are home from school. I'll… we'll tell everyone then. Together. Please. It's less than a month away."

Draco grumbled. "Christmas." He sighed. "Well, are we going on the damned boat, or not?"

Harry picked up Teddy and joined him, but the frostiness of the outing had nothing to do with the weather.

As Christmas got closer, the tension between them grew steadily. Their lovemaking became hard and fast, almost punishing. Draco spent more and more time working alone in the attic.

One day, Harry came up to tell Draco he was going out. "I've got to do a bit of holiday shopping," he said. "Do you need me to pick anything up for you while I'm out?"

Draco looked up from the book he'd been consulting. He was sweaty and dusty and in a particularly foul mood.

"Oh right," he said. "It is the holiday shopping season. I suppose the Weaslette is probably in Hogsmeade even now buying up more green clothing to give you."

Harry laughed nervously. "She probably is," he agreed. He sat next to Draco. "Look, I know this has been awful. But don't worry. It's almost over. I'll do it at Christmas. And if it makes you any happier, I'll return any green clothing she buys me."

Draco merely rolled his eyes and returned to his book.

Harry stood again, agitated, pulling at his hair. "Damn it, Draco," he said. "You act as though you're the only one having a hard time with this! It's not easy for me either. I know I need to tell them, but every time I think about actually doing it, I just want to throw up."

Draco threw the book aside and leapt to his feet. "Well, maybe you shouldn't tell them then," he said. "I don't want you puking on my behalf. Maybe I should just go, leave you to them."

"That's not what I want either," said Harry. "But think about it: what am I going to say? 'Merry Christmas, everyone! By the way, Ginny, I don't love you. I'm with Draco now. You know, the guy who has always said horrible things about your whole family.' I feel like I'm betraying them!"

"Maybe you should have thought about that before you propositioned me in my family home, and sucked me off in the Ministry of Magic, Potter!"

Tears sparkled in Harry's eyes. "So, it's 'Potter' again, is it?" He turned away, swiping under his glasses with his sleeve.

"Maybe this whole thing has been a mistake," Draco said. "It doesn't sound to me like much has changed. You're still siding with your friends against me. That's okay, Potter. I'm used to it."

He turned, headed for the stairs.

"Where are you going?" Harry called after him.

"I'm leaving," Draco said. "You always said I was free to go anytime I wanted. And I want to go."

"Draco, don't," Harry said. "Please. I'm going to tell them! I don't care how hard it is. Please stay. I want you to stay."

Below, at the landing, Draco turned to look up at him. "Is that an order, Potter?" He half hoped Harry would say yes.

"Is that the only way you'd stay?"

Draco nodded, turned away again. Behind him, he heard Harry swallow back a sob.

"Then go," Harry said. "I can't – I won't – keep you here against your will."

Draco couldn't turn around. He couldn't let Harry see him cry. Malfoys don't cry. He took a deep breath, steadied himself. "I guess you don't have to break the Weaslette's heart after all," he said. "Maybe you two do deserve each other." And he walked down the rest of the stairs, and out of the house.

The next two weeks passed slowly for Draco. Without his attic project to work on, and without Harry – without Potter, that is – keeping him company, sharing meals and a bed, Draco didn't know what to do with himself. He didn't want to talk to his mother about his sudden return home, so he avoided her as much as possible. He would have liked to read further in his books of dark magic, but there was no way he was going back to Potter's place to retrieve them. He just rattled around Malfoy Manor, trying to kill time.

His thoughts returned constantly to Harry – to Potter. Draco corrected himself every time he realized he'd been thinking of the Gryffindor by his given name. They were no longer intimate. Surnames had been good enough for them when they'd been enemies, and would be good enough now.

He wondered if Potter felt lost, too. Lonely.

No matter: the Hogwarts Express would be bringing the students home for the holidays in mere days. If Potter was lonely, he wouldn't be for long. The Weaslette would be all over him, never having known anything had ever happened. And Potter wouldn't say anything. Draco would still be – would always be – his dirty little secret.

Some part of Draco hoped that Potter would find the balls to tell her. He envisioned it over and over again: the redhead gaping at him in disbelief, then comprehension slowly dawning in her small mind, followed by her anguished cries. He knew it would never happen, but he found great satisfaction in the fantasy.

And then Potter would come crawling back to him. And Draco would be back in charge.

Another part of him took savage pleasure in imagining Potter stuck with the Weaslette for the rest of his life, desperately unhappy, but too cowardly to do anything about it. Wishing, until the end of his days, that he had not pushed Draco away.

Really – Draco needed a hobby. Something to keep him busy, so that he didn't spend all his time obsessing over his former… what? Boyfriend? They'd never used the term. Lover. Maybe that's all he'd ever been. Just a piece of arse.

And then, on December 22nd, facing the prospect of an extremely small and depressing Christmas dinner, just himself and his mother, Draco had a stroke of inspiration: family. That's what he should do with his time – spend it with family. In particular, with his baby cousin Teddy. He did actually miss the little color-changing freak.

Narcissa was surprised, but cooperative, when Draco suggested they invite Aunt Andromeda and Teddy to share their Christmas goose.

"After all," said Draco, "with Father away, and Aunt Bellatrix gone, we have so little family around."

"Of course," Narcissa said. She sent an owl to her remaining sibling to issue the invitation.

The response came the next day via return owl: they were coming. Draco was elated. And if Aunt Andromeda happened to mention anything about how Potter was faring, well… what could he do? Old women do like to gossip.

When Draco answered the door on Christmas Day, he was startled at the resemblance between his mother's sisters. He would have thought it was Bellatrix at the door, except that Bellatrix was dead, and wasn't really the type to cuddle babies.

"Happy Christmas," he said, hoping she hadn't noticed his initial shock, "and welcome to Malfoy Manor."

"Thank you," said Andromeda, stepping through the door and looking all around her. Teddy grunted and wiggled in her arm, threatening to fall. Her other arm was holding a heavy-looking traveling bag. She set it down, and used both hands to hang on to the boy.

"Let me help you," offered Draco, and he reached out to take Teddy.

The little boy settled down immediately, and his hair changed from dark blue to bubblegum pink.

"Well, look at that," said Andromeda.

"Mother's in the kitchen putting the final touches on our meal," Draco said over his shoulder, leading the way to the sitting room. "She'll be out in a moment, I'm sure."

"Cissy's cooking?" Andromeda had apparently never considered the possibility that her sister might learn her way around a kitchen.

"Yes," said Draco, somewhat more defensively than he'd intended. "We lost our house-elf several years ago." Thanks to Potter, naturally.

"I'm sorry to hear that," she said. She sounded like she meant it.

"Please," he said, "make yourself comfortable." He gestured to the couch. She sat.

Draco took the armchair opposite her, still holding Teddy, who was poking his chin.

"He seems quite taken with you," she said.

He caught Teddy's hand and tickled him until he squealed.

"No," he said. "I'm just good with children."

"Draco Malfoy."

Startled to have his aunt – practically a stranger – call him by his full name in such a tone, Draco looked up from the giggling baby. Andromeda was trying hard to frown at him. The corners of her mouth twitched, giving away the smile underneath.

"I'd wager you are _not _good with children," she said. "You are good with _that _child. He likes you – it's obvious. He only goes pink like that around people he trusts."

"Oh," said Draco.

"Given that the boy isn't even a year old, I usually manage to keep up to date with his social circle. I thought this was the first time the two of you had met, but that is clearly not the case. I can think of only one explanation," she said. "You must have gone along on at least one of Teddy's outings with Harry Potter."

"Yes," Draco admitted. "I did."

"Which one?"

"All of them, from the second zoo trip until a couple of weeks ago."

"I assume, then, that you and Harry are… friendly."

Draco flinched at her loaded word. "We were friendly," he said. "But not anymore."

She studied him for a moment. "That sheds a little light on things," she finally said.

He cocked an eyebrow at her, puzzled.

"Teddy and I visited Harry yesterday. I'd mentioned that I was coming here today, and he… well, he looked a little ill, to tell you the truth. Then he asked if I would bring you something from him."

A note of apology? A letter saying that he'd told his friends everything, dumped the Weaslette, and wanted Draco to come back?

Andromeda reached into her traveling bag, and pulled out… a stack of books. Draco's dark magic references. No note.

"Is that… all?"

"Yes, dear," Andromeda said. "I'm sorry." She placed the books beside her on the couch.

Draco felt his eyes get moist, and turned his face to Teddy, so his aunt wouldn't see. Teddy reached up and put both hands on Draco's chin. Draco gave the little boy a tight hug.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to find Andromeda standing behind him, patting him comfortingly.

"If it's any consolation," she said, "he looked awful. I couldn't figure out what was wrong. The hero of the Wizarding world – a handsome, healthy and wealthy young man with an attractive girl by his side – he should have been the picture of happiness. But he was quieter than usual, didn't smile much the whole time we were there. Seemed to be lost in his thoughts until someone would ask him a direct question, and then he'd look up, as if he was surprised he wasn't alone. I think he's missing you terribly."

Draco bit his bottom lip. He couldn't speak. So he nodded.

"Does your mother know?"

"Probably," he managed to say. "We don't talk about it. And please, Aunt Andromeda, don't say anything to anyone, okay?"

She came around to the front of Draco's chair. "It's not because of the pureblood thing, is it?"

"No," he sighed. "That's not the reason. Just… Harry didn't want anyone to know. And besides, it's over. There's nothing to tell. He's with Ginny Weasley again. You said so yourself."

"I wouldn't bank on that one lasting," she said with a smirk. "Everything she said seemed to make him more miserable. She kept pushing him to join the Auror training program, but he's clearly uncomfortable with the idea. He was physically pulling away while she talked about it, but I don't think she noticed. She was too busy chatting about all the perks that go along with the job, like invitations to the Ministry Christmas Ball."

"Now you're just trying to make me feel better," he said.

"Why is Teddy so fascinated with your chin?" The boy was poking it again.

"Most of the time I spent with Teddy I was in disguise," he said. "Harry's idea. Glamour charms, so we wouldn't be recognized. Teddy's probably wondering what happened to my beard." He handed Teddy back to his grandmother, scowling.

But Teddy started to cry, and reached for Draco again.

"Beard or no beard, he wants you," Andromeda said.

If only she'd been talking about Harry.

"Maybe he's just hungry," he said. "I can ask Mother to puree some mangoes for him."

"He's not hungry," Andromeda said. "I fed him right before we left, since he's not ready yet for solid foods." Teddy still squirmed and cried in her arms. "I'm impressed that you know his favorite food, though."

Draco sighed, and took the boy back. Teddy's crying stopped, and his hair brightened again.

"I think he's tired after his meal," said Draco. He tucked the boy up on his shoulder. "I'll walk him around a bit, maybe he'll sleep."

Andromeda chuckled. "You should come visit us now and then, Draco."

"I'd like that," he said, stroking the little boy's back with long, slow movements.

Just then, Narcissa appeared in the doorway. "Hello, Dromeda."

"Cissy," she said. "It's been so long."

Narcissa nodded at her son, who was swaying gently as he walked the perimeter of the sitting room, the pink-haired Teddy yawning over his shoulder. "They're getting along well," she said.

"Yes," said Andromeda. "Draco has such a way with children."

Even facing away from the women, Draco knew Andromeda was smiling.

"Dinner is ready," said Narcissa. "Draco?"

"I'll be there in a moment," he said, in a soft, singsongy voice so as not to disturb Teddy. "He's almost out."

He began to hum a gentle lullaby as he swayed, moving in a slow circle, as if they were dancing.

Andromeda took her sister's arm, and turned her toward the hallway. "Why don't you show me your home, while Draco tends to Teddy? Then we can all meet up in the dining room and eat together in a few minutes."

Narcissa's feet weren't moving. "Isn't that…" She stood still, head cocked to one side, listening carefully. "Isn't that the lullaby Mother used to sing to us?"

"Yes, Cissy," Andromeda replied. "Come on. Let's leave them alone."

Five minutes later, Teddy was asleep, but Draco still swayed in the sitting room, holding the boy.

"You take good care of Harry for me," he whispered into the boy's now dusky rose-colored locks. "But feel free to spit up on the Weaslette as much as you want."

* * *

_A/N: Will Harry and Draco make up? Will Moaning Myrtle have to call Orkin to get rid of the Nargles in her mistletoe? Will Winky join Butterbeer Addicts Anonymous and get the help she needs? The answers to these and many more questions on the next episode of Soap! I mean, SoC!_


	6. Chapter 6: Spring

Standard Disclaimer: We do not own Potter or Draco, which – in our opinions – is a damned shame. We're not making any money from writing this story (another shame). Everything you recognize belongs to J.K. Rowling. The dirty parts belong to us!

_A/N: Warning: mild Ginny-bashing ahead. C'mon, you know it had to happen. We can't let Harry be happy with Ginny now that he's been with Draco, now can we?_

_A/N2: Special thanks to Felena1971's son King Asher142 and friend Tracy for letting us bounce phrases off of them as we gave this chapter a final check._

**

* * *

Chapter Six: Spring**

For the rest of the Holidays, Draco felt as though he were holding his breath. If Potter wanted him to come back, something would happen soon. In early January, the Hogwarts Express pulled out of Kings Cross Station, presumably with Granger, Lovegood, and the Weaslette on board, and still Draco waited. Nothing happened. By mid-month, he knew nothing had changed. Potter had not told them anything. Draco didn't know what to call the thing that had happened between them that fall, but it didn't matter now. It was definitely over.

Spring is the season of rebirth, and as the weather got warmer, Draco threw himself into his new post-Potter life the best he could. He considered doing a mental spring-cleaning of sorts, and putting all his memories from September through December into a Pensieve, but he couldn't quite bring himself to do it. He tried instead to move the clutter out of sight, by stuffing all thoughts of Potter into a dark corner of his mind. Most of the time, he thought he'd done a good job of it.

Occasionally, something would remind Draco of the time he'd spent at Grimmauld Place, and an odd hollow ache would settle in his chest. Rather than berate himself for these lapses - after all, anything worth doing well took practice – he just fixed the problem as much as possible. He shoved the books Potter had returned to him on a bookshelf – a very high bookshelf, well out of his line of vision. He didn't need them, anyway, if he wasn't breaking any curses.

He avoided the library, where Potter had first whispered his desires. He stayed out of the basement, where Potter had briefly been imprisoned. It wasn't practical to steer clear of the sitting room, where Potter had nervously rattled his teacup and pierced Draco with his emerald gaze, so Draco opted to pass through it as quickly as he could whenever his route took him through that part of the house.

Draco would not, however, compromise on the issue of Teddy Lupin. At his aunt's invitation, he visited Teddy and Andromeda every week. He really had become attached to the little boy, who was now walking and – sort of like Loony Lovegood – talking a streak of nonsense interspersed with a few intelligible words. This made him more interesting company than almost anyone else Draco knew. Andromeda almost always had news of Potter, and Draco paid as little attention to her ramblings as he could without seeming rude. The Gryffindor was no longer Draco's concern.

It meant nothing that Draco scoured the Daily Prophet every morning, and read every word of any article that mentioned a certain messy-haired, green-eyed, scar-headed wizard. He was merely keeping himself informed about current events. Besides, he had to spend his time doing something, as – true to his word – he was avoiding the dreary fate of the working stiff as long as he possibly could.

He still hated his weekly community service days at St. Mungo's. He was forced to admit that it would be more enjoyable if Potter were around to clean him up after his weekly appointment in hell. It is, after all, quite difficult to scrub one's own back. Instead, Draco did the best he could, alone – in the shower. The shower had fewer… associations… than did the bath. And Draco had no need for those associations.

In fact, were it not for Draco's vivid dreams, he would have considered himself well along the path to recovery from whatever madness had seized him the previous fall. Still… One couldn't be held responsible for the content of one's dreams. Right?

Which was a good thing, because Potter starred nightly in Draco's elaborate subconscious wanderings. They were so realistic. So detailed. So… stimulating. He often woke in the middle of the night with an aching hard-on. The only way he could get back to sleep was to take care of it.

He refused, however, to think about Potter while wanking. He concentrated very hard on not thinking about Potter's impossibly thick hair, his deep green eyes, his eager lips – or the sighs and moans that he used to coax from those lips. He did not allow himself to dwell on thoughts of Potter's strong hands, his well-defined abs, or the trail of dark hair leading toward… Aaah – no thinking of that, either. He would not imagine Potter's legs wrapped around him, their bodies moving together, both of them covered in a fine sheen of sweat… And when he came, Draco never let himself remember how brilliant it felt to spill his hot seed into the warm, wet cavern of Potter's mouth, or the hot tightness of his body.

Well, he tried really hard not to do those things. He might even have been making progress; it was hard to tell.

On April 5, an owl interrupted Draco's breakfast. It was from Andromeda. "Come over, as quickly as you can," the note read.

Draco abandoned his breakfast and apparated to his aunt's house right away. He was there within two minutes of the owl's arrival.

"What is it?" he asked her, his face ashen. "Is something wrong with Teddy?"

Upon hearing his name, little Teddy toddled forward, his hair going bright pink, as it always did when Draco visited, and threw his chubby arms around Draco's knees. "Koko!" said the boy. He was unable to pronounce Draco's name, despite repeated coaching. The best he could do was "Koko." Even Draco's attempts to get the boy to shorten it to the only slightly more dignified nickname "Ko" failed. He had given up.

Draco picked him up, assessing him quickly. He seemed fine. "Yes, Teddy," he said. "Koko's here." He turned to Andromeda. "What's going on?"

"We went to Harry's for Easter yesterday," she said, "and I must tell you all about it. Come in and sit."

Draco groaned as he followed her to the kitchen, where she was still making breakfast. "Dromeda," he said. "I know you think you're being helpful, but I really don't –"

"This you need to hear," she said. "Sit."

He sat. She plunked a bowl of cereal and a mug of coffee in front of him.

"He misses you still," she said. "And it's obvious to me that you miss him. Can't one of you boys just get over your stupid pride and apologize to the other, and fix this mess?"

Draco stirred his coffee and shook his head. "We're so far beyond that, Dromeda. It's been almost five months. If he was at all interested in fixing things, he'd have said something ages ago."

"Then just listen," she said. "When we arrived, Miss Weasley greeted us."

Draco involuntarily growled at the mention of the Weaslette. Did she even stop in at the hovel she was supposed to call home? Or did she go straight to Grimmauld Place to get her hands on Potter without wasting a single minute?

"Bear with me, dear," Andromeda said, patting his hand. "Teddy asked for Harry, and she rolled her eyes, and said she would have to go get him."

"Where was he?" Draco asked, against his better judgment.

"The attic. Apparently he has been spending quite a bit of time up there by himself. Miss Weasley doesn't know what to make of it. But I do…." Andromeda smiled and spread her hands wide, as if offering a gift.

"That doesn't mean he misses me," said Draco. "It just means he's hiding from that shrew."

"There's more," she said. "She wanted to take Teddy with her to go get Harry. I was hesitant because he hadn't taken to her at Christmas, but I allowed it. She bounced him on her hip and went to fetch him."

"Please tell me he puked all over her."

Andromeda laughed. "He didn't, but he did fuss rather loudly. He cried all the way up the stairs to the attic, and even harder all the way down."

"Why was he crying harder?" Draco pushed away his cereal bowl and now-empty coffee cup, and pulled Teddy up onto his lap. "Didn't Harry come down with them?"

"That was the problem," she said. "He wanted Harry to hold him, and she wouldn't give him up!"

"Why the hell not?" What did the Weaslette want with poor, innocent little Teddy? Wasn't it enough that she had her claws in Potter?

"I think she wanted to show Harry that she was good with babies, and that she'll make a good mother to his children. So she kept right on bouncing him and tickling him, trying to make him smile, and he just kept crying harder."

"That's awful," Draco said. "Using poor Teddy like that, and making him cry!" He bent his head to whisper into Teddy's ear. "If she ever does that again, just spit up on her. That would have made her give you to Harry right away."

"It was awful," Andromeda agreed. "We kept trying to take him back, and she kept insisting that she had everything under control. Finally Harry told her she was acting as cruel as Doris Emblage, or something, and that she'd better hand him over. That finally did it."

Draco laughed. "Not Doris Emblage – Dolores Umbridge! Gods, that was a hell of an insult."

"Oh right. Dolores Umbridge, yes. The one who was in the paper so much a few years back."

"She was our Dark Arts teacher, and she was even Headmistress for a bit. Just about everyone hated her – Harry particularly."

"So you see?" asked Andromeda. "All is not lost. He's pining for you in the attic, and he thinks she's as cruel as Umbridge."

"It does sound like they're not getting along very well," Draco allowed. "You still have no real evidence that he misses me. The attic means nothing – it's just a place to hide." He could not let himself imagine that Potter might be in the attic thinking of him. He could not afford the luxury of false hope – he had come too far, and such thoughts could set him back months.

"I don't know about that," Andromeda said. "When he compared her to Umbridge, she really took offense. She handed Teddy to him – a bit roughly, I might add – and glared at him with her hands on her hips. 'Fine,' she told him. 'Maybe I'LL go hide in the attic then, if you're going to be that way.' And she stomped off up the stairs."

Draco's eyes widened in alarm. He did not want the Weaslette to be in that space where he and Harry – er, Potter, that is – had spent so many hours together. His heart raced. "And he let her go?"

Andromeda chuckled. "You try to play it cool, Draco, but you don't fool me."

"Stop being so smug and just tell me what happened, woman!"

"No," she said. "He didn't let her go. Before she even got up one flight of stairs, he had passed Teddy back to me, and raced up after her. He told her the attic was his private place, and she was not to go in there. Ever. So she left – missed the whole rest of the day, including Easter brunch and the egg hunt Harry had set up for Teddy."

"Egg," said Teddy, and squirmed in Draco's arms. Draco set him back on the floor, and he toddled off.

Draco breathed deeply and relaxed in his seat. So the Weaslette had gotten into a snit, and left. Though it was no longer any of his business, the news did please him.

"How did Teddy like the egg hunt?" he asked.

"Oh, he loved it," said Andromeda. "You should have seen him. Harry had dyed a dozen eggs and tucked them into places all over the sitting room. Every time Teddy spotted one, he'd squeal with delight and his hair would change color to match the egg he'd found. It was a lovely day, once the initial tension wore off."

"So it was just the three of you after she left?"

Andromeda nodded, and poured herself another cup of coffee.

Draco was silent for a while. He could hear Teddy digging through his toys in the next room.

"Aunt Dromeda," he started, but then stopped himself.

"What is it, dear?"

Draco bit his lower lip, trying to decide if he really wanted an answer to his question.

Andromeda reached across the table, and placed her hand on his. "Go on," she said.

"Do you ever mention me, when you're visiting with Harry?"

"Of course I do," she said, smiling. "He knows I see you every week, and that you and Teddy are so close."

"You tell me things that you say are evidence that he misses me," Draco said, pressing on. "Have you ever given him any reason to think that I miss him?"

Andromeda sighed, and released his hand. "I talked to him about it once, in January, after the term started again at Hogwarts and we had some privacy. I told him that I thought the two of you would make a good pair, and that I hoped you could work things out."

Draco groaned. "I bet that went over like a Comet Two-Sixty."

"He was right cheesed off, at first," she admitted. "He wanted to know what you had told me, and whether I had told anyone else."

"I told you, he didn't want anyone to know," said Draco, his stomach threatening to pack up and leave.

"I am aware of that, Draco. I assured him that you hadn't said anything – I had figured it out myself – and that I hadn't mentioned it to anyone other than the two of you. Well, he breathed a bit easier after that, of course."

"Naturally," said Draco. He didn't even try to hide the bitterness in his voice.

"And then he said that it was over – same as you had had told me. He said you'd set a task of sorts for him, a task he'd failed to complete, and you'd left."

Draco nodded. That was it in a nutshell. And he now had incontrovertible proof that Potter hadn't worked up the balls to tell his friends over Christmas, as he'd promised he would.

"Will you tell me what it was you asked him to do?"

Draco couldn't meet her eyes. He looked out the kitchen window, instead. "I just wanted him to own up to being with me. He kept me hidden, disguised, so that the press wouldn't see us together, and print something that his friends would see. He kept saying he would tell them, and then we could stop hiding. He promised he would do it over the Christmas holiday, when the ones at school would be back in town. But he didn't really want to do it. And, obviously, he didn't do it at Christmas, or since. I guess there's nothing to tell anyway. It was… a mistake. And now it's over."

Andromeda was quiet for a minute. When she spoke again, her voice was huskier than usual. "I didn't bring it up again until yesterday," she said. "I said it looked like he wasn't getting along with Miss Weasley very well, and that maybe it was because he still had feelings for you."

Draco felt the color drain from his face. "Dromeda, you didn't."

"I did," she said.

"Fuck," he said.

They both looked around instinctively, but Teddy was out of earshot.

"Oops." He blushed. "Sorry about that."

"It's okay, dear," she said. "Sometimes one slips out." She stood, and peeked into the next room. "He's looking for something. Poor little spoiled baby – he's got so many toys from you and Harry that it makes it hard for him to find something specific. You both take such good care of him."

"Andromeda," said Draco. "What did he say?"

"He asked me not to judge her, because I'd just seen her at her worst. He said it's difficult for her being away at school with him here in London, and so she's trying too hard."

Draco looked away again, and blinked hard.

"I asked him if he loved Miss Weasley," she said.

He felt like he was suffocating. There were tight bands across his chest and he couldn't draw enough air.

"He said he had always loved her on some level, but now he isn't quite sure of his feelings. He doesn't want to be with her just because it's expected of him, or because it's become comfortable, yet he doesn't want to call everything into question right now, when she needs to be focusing on NEWT preparations."

Teddy waddled back to the kitchen, and stopped at the door, as if even a year-old child could feel the tension in the room.

"So I asked, 'What about Draco?' And he said that his feelings about you one way or the other didn't matter, because he'd hurt your feelings too badly and you'd never forgive him."

Draco pounded his fist on the table. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Teddy jump, but he was too charged up to lower his voice. "How in the name of Salazar am I supposed to forgive him? He won't give me a chance to do it! Most of the time when you hope to be forgiven for something you at least apologize!"

"I know, Draco," Andromeda said. "I wish I could just lock the two of you into a room together and not let you out until you start talking again."

Draco felt a small hand on his knee, and looked down to find Teddy holding out a bright red egg. His hair was exactly the same shade.

"Koko egg," said the boy.

Draco swept the boy into his arms and buried his face in his hair. "Thank you, Teddy," he whispered.

* * *

_A/N: What lengths will Molly go to get win tickets for the next Celestina Warbeck concert? Will the Giant Squid find his long lost twin brother? Will Andromeda lock Harry and Draco into a room together, and if so, will they ever want to come out? The answers to these and many more questions on the next episode of Soap! I mean, SoC!_


	7. Chapter 7: Summer Scorcher

Standard Disclaimer: We do not own Potter or Draco, which – in our opinions – is a damned shame. We're not making any money from writing this story (another shame). Everything you recognize belongs to J.K. Rowling. The dirty parts belong to us!

Nonstandard Disclaimer: We are going on the assumption here that wizards have stronger constitution than Muggles. See Steve Vander Ark's essay on the Harry Potter Lexicon entitled "That Had to Hurt… Or Did It?" for more info. Anyway, the practical application in this particular story is that we assume wizards are less susceptible to sexually transmitted diseases. **Muggles, however, should ALWAYS USE A CONDOM when getting to know someone new.**

_A/N from IJDTW: We appreciate the anonymity of fanfiction. Maybe you won't be able to hunt us down and kill us for this chapter._

_A/N2 from Felena1971: *looks over at her co-author* What's with the US crap? You do the writing; I'm just the beta! Siriusly though, thank you to all of our wonderful readers for your reviews and encouragement. Trust me, we are as excited to be writing together again as you are to be reading what our twisted minds come up with. Keep reading, keep reviewing and keep believing in magic!_

_A/N3: We'd like to take the opportunity to wish **Tonksadora **a very happy birthday. Lucky witch shares her birthday with Gred and Forge! We encourage each of you to do something wild and crazy (but legal and safe), in honor of Tonksadora and the twins. Go on – solemnly swear it! Get up to no good! You know you want to!_

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Chapter Seven: Summer Scorcher**

Draco had not seen many people from Hogwarts in the past year – Harry Potter being the extremely notable exception – so he was very surprised to get an owl from Pansy Parkinson inviting him to join her and Blaise Zabini for drinks at her flat to celebrate Draco's nineteenth birthday. As part of his recovery program, Draco decided to accept.

Perhaps spending time with some old friends would make him feel more like himself again. Except that Draco didn't really think of Parkinson and Zabini as friends. If they were friends, they would have stayed in touch with him even when it looked as though he might be going to Azkaban. They would have wondered what became of him when he was spending his time almost exclusively at Grimmauld Place. And they would have known he was alone since before Christmas and done something about it before June Fucking Fifth.

So it was a skeptical Draco that knocked on Pansy Parkinson's door. She greeted him with kisses on both cheeks – a gesture only made possible by the dangerously high heels that added at least four inches to her height.

"Draco, darling," she cooed. "Happy Birthday. It's been too long since we've seen each other."

Draco reminded himself that he did once like Parkinson. At least, he didn't hate her as much as he hated most people. He forced a smile.

Zabini was sitting in an armchair, and nodded as Draco entered. The only place left to sit was the couch, which meant he would have to share the couch with Parkinson. He planted himself as far in the corner as possible, crossed his ankle over his knee to create a barrier between them, and tossed back the obligatory firewhiskey.

"So tell us, Draco," Parkinson prompted. "What have you been doing with yourself lately?"

"Until today," he said, "I had been avoiding pointless social rituals. Yourself?"

She pouted, and said he was about as much fun as a flobberworm.

"Since when is it my job to entertain you?" Draco asked. "It's my birthday; you can entertain me."

That had been a mistake.

"Oh, a challenge," Parkinson said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Come on, Blaise – do we have any good gossip?"

Zabini shrugged. "I don't," he said. "Since we've left school, I'm not sure who's shagging who anymore."

Parkinson frowned at him. "That's just not helpful, Blaise. So why don't you just tell us who you've been shagging lately?" She leaned toward Draco, her breasts nearly falling out of her low-cut blouse. "Blaise is such a slut," she said in a stage whisper.

"Me?" Blaise gave Draco a wink. "Who I've been shagging lately? Why, Parkinson – I was sure you knew."

She raised her eyebrows, waiting.

"Your mother of course, Parkinson. I've been doing her for ages! I'm surprised you hadn't heard...it's not like she has a silencing charm on her bedroom."

She screamed with laughter. Draco was not amused. He'd heard enough of this kind of banter in the Slytherin common room to last him another decade or two.

"Blaise, you bad, bad boy," Parkinson said with a giggle. "I thought after your sixth year fling with Adrian Pucey you'd decided you liked boys."

Draco had heard that rumor, too. For a moment, he considered his popular classmate. He was, without question, good looking. And, as a fellow Slytherin, he'd be a far more appropriate partner than Potter had ever been. Draco tried to envision himself kissing Zabini.

"Yes, well," said Zabini. "Your father does join in sometimes, too. Mostly, though, he just likes to watch."

"Oh, Blaise," said Parkinson, wiping the tears from her eyes. "You are wicked. Now come on – isn't there any news that does not involve you shagging my parents?"

"I did hear Millicent Bulstrode has been sacked from her job. I think she was eating the merchandise."

"Oh dear," said Parkinson, in mock sorrow. "At least that will give her more time to obsess over the Holyhead Harpies. I expect she'll take to following them to all their games, seeing if she can get her favorite team members to autograph her breasts."

"Now that's a repulsive idea," said Draco, joining the conversation at last. "And not just because they've just recruited the Weaslette for next season." There. Some good comes from reading the paper cover to cover. He was able to participate in conversation with his old schoolmates. Just like before… before his life had been turned upside down and inside out.

"That little whore," snarled Parkinson. "Is she still dating Potter?"

"School lets out in two weeks," said Zabini. "I predict they'll be married by the end of the month, and popping out little ginger Gryffindors within a year."

Draco suddenly felt sick to his stomach. Zabini was right, of course. Potter had defended the slag after she had terrorized Teddy. She'd be off the Hogwarts Express in mere days, and probably sleeping with Potter that very night. On Draco's side of the bed. He wanted to puke. Luckily, it was not unusual for Draco to look nauseated at the mention of Potter or any member of the Weasel clan, so neither Parkinson nor Zabini took special notice of his reaction.

"I hope you don't think I came here to listen to gossip about Potter and the Weaslette," said Draco. "I thought you were trying to entertain me, not disgust me."

"Fair point," said Parkinson. She moved closer to him on the couch, and leaned over, her hand on his thigh. "You know," she purred, "Blaise did just say he enjoys a threesome now and then. We could make this a birthday you'll never forget." She raised her eyebrows at Zabini, who grinned.

To Draco's horror, she began unbuckling his trousers, until Zabini moved to the floor directly in front of him, on his knees, and took over. Parkinson moved to his shirt buttons, and shoved her tongue in his ear. Her breasts were squashed against his arm.

No, screamed a voice in Draco's head. This is all kinds of fucked up.

But then another voice whispered that Potter would soon be shagging someone else. Hell, he probably had shagged the Weaselette over the holidays. Why should Gryffindors have all the fun?

The big problem with that argument was that Draco was not having fun. His heart raced with adrenaline – he wanted to flee. He closed his eyes, and willed himself to relax. This was good, right? What red-blooded male wouldn't want this? Soft kisses and nibbles on his neck, a hand stroking his chest, and another hand reaching into his pants and taking hold of his cock with a firm, confident grasp.

It was all happening so fast. His trousers were inching down his thighs and before he had a moment to decide how he felt about that development, he was distracted by kisses – Parkinson was kissing her way along his jaw. Draco's eyes were shut tight as he tried to focus just on the sensations, and not on who was doing what. He gasped as the hand on his cock stroked upward, and suddenly, Parkinson's mouth was on his mouth, her tongue snaking past his teeth, and it was too much – too much, too fast, too personal, too invasive.

He leapt to his feet, knocking both of his startled assailants backward. He grabbed his trousers and refastened them, while drying his ear with his shoulder. "No thanks," he said. "I've had enough entertainment for one evening." He grabbed the firewhiskey off the side table, and took a long drink, right from the bottle. "I'm going to consider this a birthday gift," he said, gesturing with the bottle, and he left.

As the door closed behind him, he heard Zabini say, "Nice move, Parkinson. Do you have any idea how long I've wanted a piece of that?"

Draco was so aghast at the behavior of his supposed friends that he apparated blindly away. He laughed ruefully when he identified the place as the park where he and Harry – where he and Potter, that is – had taken Teddy for a walk once in happier times. It was dark, and the park was fairly empty. He sat on a bench and slowly drank the rest of the bottle, scowling at the few Muggles who hurried by, pretending not to stare. Unfortunately, he got too pissed to attempt apparating home. He didn't want to splinch himself. So he lay down on the bench to rest, and sober up.

He woke at dawn, wet with dew, and freezing. What a repugnant development – he had spent his nineteenth birthday passed out drunk in a public park. He apparated home, warmed up with a hot shower, and spent the rest of the day in his room.

A couple of weeks later, Draco developed a mysterious illness. He ran a slight fever, and felt tired and weak. He was too ill even to make his weekly volunteer appointment at St. Mungo's. (It was mere coincidence that he fell ill on the very day the Hogwarts Express brought the Weaslette back to London – back to Potter. He must have just caught some illness from his exposure to the elements the night of his birthday.) After a week or so, he was back on his feet, although he still felt queasy for another several days.

After ten days of Draco's moping around Malfoy Manor, Narcissa took matters into her own hands.

"Darling," she said, when he finally came down to breakfast, close to noon one day, "You need to get out of here for a little while. Go to the shore, for your health. I've made arrangements for you to spend time at the villa in Greece. I've scheduled you a Portkey for this afternoon. You come back in two weeks."

"I come back in…" Draco puzzled over her words. Something was odd about them. He rubbed his hands over the stubble on his chin, and took a sip of coffee. It helped clear the fog in his head. "Wait a minute," he said. "You're not coming with me?"

She moved to the sink and set the dishes from her own breakfast to washing themselves. She wasn't fast enough: Draco thought he saw a glimmer of a smile before she turned away. She was up to something.

"No," she said. "I have things to attend to here at home."

"So I'm to knock around the villa by myself?"

"Actually," she said, and Draco was shocked to see his mother blush slightly, "one of my friends needed a little getaway, too. I hope you don't mind sharing the place for a few days."

Draco sighed. So Narcissa was trying to fix him up with someone. He had no doubt that this "friend" of his mother's would be younger than twenty-five, and pretty. It was nice of her to try to help, but rather embarrassing all the same.

"I know what you're doing, Mother. You can stop playing innocent. It doesn't suit you."

And now Narcissa colored quite impressively. "Fine," she said. "Is it so wrong for a mother to want her son to be happy?"

No. It isn't so wrong. He could give this "friend" a try. He used to like girls, or at least he thought he did. It wouldn't be so bad to give it a try again, in a warm and sunny location, where he could swim in the crystal blue waters of the Aegean. Worst case scenario, he'd throw the bint out and just enjoy the place by himself. He could use a change of scenery.

Draco rose from the table to stand beside his mother.

"All right," he said. "Tell me about her. What's her name?"

Narcissa laughed. She sounded nervous. "Pieter," she said.

Draco's jaw dropped wide open.

"Pieter Neumann. I met him on my ski trip this year. He's a ski instructor, from Germany."

Draco recovered enough to speak. "You- You set me up with a bloke?"

Her blush reached all the way to her scalp. "He's very nice," she said. "Very fit, and quite good-looking. He's single, and just a few years older than you are."

"You set me up with a bloke." He shook his head in wonder.

"Just go pack," she said. "The salt air and the sunshine will do you good."

"What makes you think we'll even get along? What if we hate each other?"

"For Salazar's sake, Draco," she said, pushing him toward the stairs. "Just go pack. I'm not asking you to marry the boy – I just want you to relax and enjoy yourself. You seemed so happy last fall. I'd like to see some of that spark in you again."

Draco pulled the appropriate clothing from his wardrobe, and folded it carefully into his travel bag as he considered this latest development. Essentially, Narcissa was telling him he needed to get laid. So she was packing him off to Greece to have sex with a German ski instructor. A fit, good-looking, male ski instructor. He shouldn't really have been surprised. He had had many indications that life post-Hogwarts didn't make any sense at all, and this was merely one further example of the insanity.

She was right, of course: Draco did need to get laid. After the fiasco on his birthday, however, he was not terribly confident that this set-up would come off exactly as his mother had planned. What if… what if somehow Potter had ruined him for sex with anyone else?

He shook his head to rid it of such ludicrous thoughts. Potter might be the Chosen One. He might be the savior of the Wizarding world. He might even be a damned fine shag. But he only had one magic wand, and it was made of wood, not flesh. He could not have cursed Draco's sex life. Though Lucius Malfoy had not cultivated such thinking patterns in his son, Draco attempted to keep an open mind. He would go to Greece, and meet Pieter Neumann, the ski instructor, and he would see what happened.

He reached for his swim trunks, and hesitated halfway to his bag. It was a private beach. Swim trunks were optional. He pressed his lips together, trying to make up his mind, and then tucked the trunks into a bottom corner of the bag. Maybe he'd need them. Maybe he wouldn't.

Just as he finished the job, slipping his toothbrush and comb into his pack, it hit him. He couldn't go. At least, not for the two full weeks.

"Mother," he called, as he came back downstairs. "What about St. Mungo's? I've already missed it once. I can't believe they'd let me skip two more weeks in a row!"

"What would you rather do?" she asked him. "Relax at the beach with Pieter? Or spend a day in that smelly, tiresome hospital?"

He rolled his eyes. The question was clearly rhetorical.

"Then don't worry about it," she said. "I've taken care of it already. This family has made sizeable donations to that place over the years, so they were willing to work with me. Your assignment there will just run two weeks longer into the fall."

Two weeks at the beach, with no St. Mungo's. Pieter could be a hideous troll and an arsehole besides, and it would be better than spending those hours at St. Mungo's.

"Then I'll get my pack," he said. "How much time until the Portkey?"

"An hour and a half," she answered, smiling. "Just enough time for lunch and goodbyes."

Draco and Pieter arrived at the villa simultaneously, thanks to the timing of the Portkeys. They looked each other up and down, and Pieter smiled broadly.

"Your photo didn't do you justice," Pieter said.

Narcissa's brief description hadn't done Pieter justice either. He was tall, maybe 6' 2", with ash-blond hair, and as she had promised, he looked very fit. He was lightly tanned, and had a brilliant smile. Draco breathed deeply with relief. Pieter was not a troll. Whether he was an arsehole or not, of course, remained to be seen.

"They never do," said Draco. "Come on in; I'll show you around the villa." His words brought back memories of another tour, from another life. They overwhelmed him as powerfully as if he'd fallen into a Pensieve.

"_So let's take the tour," Draco said, heading for the door. "That'll slow things down, unless you were planning to molest me in every room along the way."_

_Potter laughed. "The thought had occurred to me," he said._

The tour of the villa was not as exciting as Draco's tour of Grimmauld Place had been nine months earlier. Pieter kept his hands – and everything else – to himself, though his eyes let Draco know that contact would be welcome. He seemed friendly enough, and despite the awkwardness of the set-up, the pair soon found conversation flowed easily.

Draco summoned two goblets from the shelf and a bottle from the wine rack. "There's a wizard on Crete whose family has been making this wine for centuries," he said, pouring a glass for Pieter.

"Thanks," said Pieter. "This is perfect." He gestured off the wide deck at the blue of the sea and the clear skies.

"_Jesus," Potter said, eyes sliding up and down Draco's nearly naked body. "I always knew you'd be perfect under those clothes."_

"Nothing is perfect," said Draco, standing near Pieter at the railing.

They stood in silence for a minute, Pieter enjoying the view and his drinks, and Draco trying valiantly to shove Potter back into the dark corner in the back of his mind. Why was Pieter's presence bringing up so many memories?

"Mother says you teach people to ski," Draco said, just to make conversation.

"Most of the year," said Pieter. "During the summer, I get time off to visit Greek villas and drink wine." He raised his goblet in salute. "What do you do?"

"Whatever I want," said Draco, returning the salute. It was good to be a man of leisure. Free to be set up for two-week dates with hot ski instructors. By one's mother. It was still odd, and Draco was more than a little curious about how it had happened.

"How exactly do you know my mother?"

Pieter drained his wine and turned to face Draco. "We shared a ski-lift one afternoon, and we got talking. She asked if I was married." He laughed again. "Honestly, I thought for a moment she was hitting on me."

That sort of thing must happen all to Pieter all the time, Draco realized. He had never understood the appeal of skiing. What was fun about spending a day in the freezing cold, sliding down a hill and then getting back up again, over and over? Yet his mother insisted on going for a ski trip every winter. Perhaps the real fun of such vacations began after the skiing ended each day. Ever since Draco was old enough to say he'd rather not go, he and Lucius had stayed home when Narcissa went to the Alps. She'd been alone at the ski resort for a week every year. And she always came back in what was, for Narcissa, a cheerful mood.

"Turns out she had overheard a couple of girls flirting with me in the lodge. I'd given them a private ski lesson that morning, and they'd been making suggestive comments all day. I could have had them both, probably at the same time, if I'd wanted them. She wanted to know why I hadn't gone with them when they invited me to the hot tub in their suite, if I wasn't married. I told her they weren't my type. She asked me what my type was, and I told her I like my dates to have significantly more testosterone." He smirked. "That made her smile."

"My mother has been surprising me fairly often this past year," Draco said. He was oddly proud of the old girl for being somewhat unpredictable.

"You surprised her, too," said Pieter. "She told me that she had a son, about my age, and that he had recently become involved with another young man. She hadn't seen it coming – she didn't have any idea you were gay."

Draco flinched at the word. Was he gay? Maybe so – he'd only had sex with one person, and that person was male. He felt a twinge in the vicinity of his heart as a memory overcame him yet again. He quashed it as quickly as possible.

"Nor did I," said Draco. "I sort of had a girlfriend in school."

"And then?"

"And then the Ministry tried to throw me in Azkaban for being on the losing side in the war. Dating wasn't really my top priority in those first months." He turned his left arm so that Pieter could see his faded Dark Mark.

"I noticed," said Pieter. "So you knew him? I assume you didn't get the tattoo just because it's sexy."

"I'd rather not talk about him, if you don't mind," said Draco. He shuddered involuntarily.

"Of course," said Pieter. "So, we were talking about your sort-of-girlfriend. You went your separate ways, and then… this other young man came along?"

"I'd rather not talk about him, either," said Draco, with a weak laugh. His throat felt a bit tight, and it was hard to swallow his drink. "It's over, anyway."

How odd that in all the world, there were two men that Draco really did not want to discuss, and Pieter had brought them both up in the space of thirty seconds. Pieter had no idea how closely related the subjects were, how their fates had been tied together, their souls intertwined. And now, even a year later, even on a deck overlooking the Aegean Sea, even from the unwitting mouth of a gay German ski-instructor who had never met either of them, Harry Potter and the Dark Lord were still in conversational proximity.

Two men Draco didn't want to talk about. Two men who had held immense power over Draco. One had wanted him to kill; the other had forgiven him for almost doing it. Draco felt his eyes get wet. Damn.

"I'm sorry," Pieter said, gently stroking Draco's back. "Your mother said in her letter that you'd had a rough few months. Maybe I can help you forget them."

"_Give me another half an hour" said Potter, " and I'll make you forget your own name."_

Draco wasn't sure Pieter could help him forget. So far, all he'd done was reopen the vault where Draco had locked his memories.

Narcissa had obviously thought Pieter could help, though, and so he was here. And warm. And touching Draco in a way that promised so much more. It wasn't awful. Maybe she'd been right. He looked into Pieter's blue eyes, tried to focus on the present, on being here in this paradise with this blond Adonis.

"So, sitting there on the ski lift, she whipped out my picture, and started plotting about getting the two of us together?"

"No, no," said Peter, laughing. "She showed me your photo that night."

Draco's eyebrows shot upward and his jaw dropped open. What the fuck? Pieter was bisexual, and Narcissa had seduced him and enjoyed it enough that she thought Draco should try him, too?

"At dinner," Pieter added, seeing Draco's expression. "She invited me to join her for dinner. She showed me your photo and told me all about you. You really are her pride and joy, you know. She said you were an only child, and that she'd hoped one day there would be grandchildren – someone to carry on the family name. But more than that, she wanted you to be happy."

Draco's eyes widened at this news. Narcissa wanted grandchildren? Merlin's balls.

"Then she had a lot of questions for me, about how long I had known I was gay, how I told my family and my friends, what their reactions were. I told her everything, the best I could. She thanked me, and shook my hand. I told her if she had any more questions, she could write, and I wished her – and you – luck." He laughed again. "I'd wished you good luck with your partner. But now…" He placed a lingering kiss on Draco's cheek. "Well, if it had worked out better between the two of you, I wouldn't be here, enjoying this lovely place or your company."

Draco's cheek tingled from the contact. He felt his face heat up. "She sent you an owl a few days ago?"

"Four days ago," he said. "She thought you could use a friend, maybe even a friend who'd been through what you're going through."

Draco chuckled. No one had been through what he'd been through. Because no one was like Harry Potter, he thought, with another painful pang. And Narcissa's motivations were not as noble as Pieter was pretending. Draco was certain she set the two up so that Pieter could be Draco's rebound man. Pieter couldn't really believe that Narcissa had invited him here just to be a helpful friend, could he?

The sun was beginning to sink toward the horizon. Draco had lost a couple of hours in the time change, and hadn't realized how late it was.

"You hungry?" he asked.

"Thought you'd never ask," said Pieter, with a grin.

They surveyed the well-stocked refrigerator and came out with a moussaka. Pieter used a warming charm to bring it to serving temperature, while Draco summoned the plates and utensils.

After dinner, they talked about school – Pieter had graduated from Beauxbatons the year before the TriWizard Tournament. He'd known Madame Maxime, of course, and Fleur Delacour. Pieter's favorite subjects had been Care of Magical Creatures and Herbology – whatever got him outdoors, he said. He'd found Potions tedious, and hated the cloying fumes.

As they talked, night fell more completely, and they sat in the dark together. More stars twinkled in the sky than Draco ever remembered seeing before. He found the constellation that shared his name and pointed it out to Pieter.

"My name is actually the first word of the Hogwarts school motto," he said. "Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus."

"Never tickle a sleeping dragon," Pieter translated. "Excellent advice, that." He chuckled. "Or never tickle a sleeping Draco, I suppose. I promise I won't tickle you tonight… assuming I let you sleep at all."

Holy shit. They barely knew each other, but Pieter was already planning to… Holy shit. Draco was not feeling quite THAT open-minded at the moment.

"I'll be sleeping in the master bedroom," said Draco. "You can have the smaller room to the left of the guest bath."

Pieter smirked again. "That will work, too," he said. "Just so long as you know where to find me, if you need me."

Draco did not need him. He was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, and for once, he was not disturbed by dreams of any kind.

A knock on the bedroom door, however, woke him at what appeared to be the first light of dawn.

"What?" he groaned.

Pieter opened the door and entered, clad only in miniscule lavender shorts in a paisley print. "I'm heading out for a morning run on the beach," he said, "if you want to join me."

Draco lifted himself onto one elbow, and rubbed his eyes. "Run?" Draco had made it a policy not to run unless someone was chasing him.

"Yes, run," said Pieter, impatiently. He lifted one foot behind him, caught it, and pulled his foot toward his bum. "I'll just stretch out while you dress." He released the foot, repeated the maneuver on the other side.

"I don't want to go for a run," said Draco, flopping back down on his pillow.

Faster than Draco had thought possible, Pieter was on top of him, on his hands and knees, smiling mischievously. "Oh? Perhaps you had a different kind of workout in mind?"

Draco put his hands on Pieter's broadly muscled chest to maintain the distance between them. "No thanks," he said. "What I had in mind was more of a lazy morning involving a cup of coffee on the deck."

"Have it your way," said Pieter, but he didn't move.

"You were going to stretch, and then run?" Draco reminded him.

"Right." After another moment's hesitation, Pieter started moving backward off the bed. His mouth, which had been hovering directly over Draco's, moved slowly past Draco's chest, abdomen, and pelvis.

Draco's cock twitched in his black silk pajama pants. Pieter might be shallow, overly energetic, and presumptuous, but there was no arguing that he was gorgeous. It would be so easy: just a hand would stop Pieter where he was, and a gentle tug on his pajama drawstring would be all the invitation Pieter would need. Where was the harm in a simple morning blowjob?

It was time to move on. Harry Fucking Potter had definitely moved on. And Draco could almost see Pieter's mouth watering as he hovered over Draco's half-naked body.

Pieter must have seen Draco's resolve wavering… or maybe he just saw the silken fabric move under his face. He met Draco's eyes, and raised a questioning eyebrow.

Draco's breath hitched, and he reached down to stroke a thumb over Pieter's cheekbone.

Pieter turned his face and kissed Draco's palm. Then he lowered himself just enough to grab hold of Draco's pajama drawstring with his teeth. He pulled.

Draco groaned as his cock stiffened completely. He closed his eyes, lifted his hips, and felt the fabric slide down to his thighs. Just breath, warm breath, and then a warm, wet, soft tongue slid over the head of Draco's cock, as a hand wrapped around the base. Draco arched off the bed, and Pieter pinned him with a firm hand on his hipbone. He moved slowly, languidly licking and sucking, working Draco's need for release higher and higher until there was no holding back.

Later, while Draco sipped his coffee on the deck and watched Pieter's pastel shorts bounce off down the beach for his morning run, he suffered a moment's guilt. But only a moment. He hadn't seen Potter in nearly seven months. He didn't owe him anything. Well, yes – there was the matter of the life-debt, but certainly that didn't apply in this situation. He was free to have his cock sucked by anyone he liked. He had no doubt that Potter was having his own knob polished daily by the Weaslette. No, Draco was under no obligation to remain celibate. And holy hell – you could bounce a galleon off that arse of Pieter's. Draco resolved to enjoy the rest of his holiday in Greece to the greatest extent possible.

They spent the rest of the day in debauched indulgence, fucking and sucking with occasional breaks to eat, nap, swim, and sunbathe. It should have been wonderful. It wasn't. Though each sexual act brought Draco physical release, it also brought emotional anguish. Rather than driving all thoughts of Harry Potter out of his mind, the shagging brought back memories in devastating torrents. By the end of the day, Draco was tired, sore, and thoroughly depressed.

He resolved to try harder the next day.

But try as he might, Draco was unable to evict the green-eyed Gryffindor from his mind. And the ache in his chest only got worse. His dreams even returned full force.

After three days, Draco had to admit defeat. The sex was good – very good – but it left Draco feeling empty. Which led him to one inescapable conclusion: whatever it was he had shared with Potter, it was more than just physical. If he wanted to fully recover, he would need to find someone who stimulated more than just his hormones.

When Pieter returned from his run on their fourth morning at the villa, Draco was waiting for him, his packed traveling bag at his feet.

"I'm going home," Draco said. "You may stay and enjoy the villa until your return Portkey. It's been… interesting meeting you."

Pieter glistened with sweat, his chest still heaving from exertion. The sun gilded the damp curls that trailed into his low-slung running shorts. "Don't go," he panted. "Aren't you having fun?"

Draco considered the question for a moment. Had he had fun? He had relaxed. He had found physical release. But fun? Fun was flying on a broom, and catching the Snitch before his opponent. Fun was breaking curses in the attic of Grimmauld Place and dazzling Harry Potter with his skills. Fun was playing with Teddy.

Teddy. He missed Teddy, and two weeks was simply too long to be away from the boy. He needed to be home. As soon as possible.

He stepped forward and pulled Pieter into a rough embrace. He could smell the salty perspiration, feel the warmth of his skin. "No," he murmured into Pieter's ear. "I'm sorry."

He turned to the fireplace, and took some Floo powder from the bowl on the mantel. "Athens Portkey Authority," he said, and stepped into green flames.

He was home in ten minutes. Too impatient to fill out the numerous forms required for international Portkey travel, he had simply bribed an official.

"Hello, Mother," he said, as he kissed Narcissa on the cheek.

She was too stunned by his arrival to return the gesture. "Why are you home so early? Where is Pieter?"

"I was ready to come home," Draco said. "Pieter's staying on for the rest of the two weeks, though. I told him to make himself at home." He dug in his travel bag and pulled out a jar of olives he had taken from the villa's kitchen. "I brought you something," he said. "A gift from the Mediterranean."

She took the jar. "Didn't you and Pieter get along?"

"We just didn't have that much in common," he said, "other than being tall, drop-dead gorgeous, blond pureblood wizards." Draco laughed as he headed for his room to unpack. "Can you believe, Mother, that he doesn't even like Quidditch?"

* * *

_A/N: Will Narcissa try to set Draco up with any more of her "friends"? Will Ginny Weasley autograph Millicent Bullstrode's breasts? Is Blaise really sleeping with Pansy's parents? The answers to these and many more questions on the next episode of Soap! I mean, SoC!_


	8. Chapter 8: Fall into Winter

Standard Disclaimer: We do not own Potter or Draco, which – in our opinions – is a damned shame. We're not making any money from writing this story (another shame). Everything you recognize belongs to J.K. Rowling. The dirty parts belong to us!

_A/N: Many thanks to reviewer Edward Evans, who suggested we answer all our silly teaser questions that we've been putting at the end of chapters, maybe when we get to the end. We like that idea and have already started working on it. We do hope you recognize that most of the questions are not meant to be taken siriusly – but we are having a ball coming up with ridiculous answers to our ridiculous questions. We'll present them as our final chapter – a bonus for any crackfic fans out there. Some are short answers, some are drabble-ish entries._

_Also thanks for hanging in there with us – this IS a Harry/Draco fic, and we do promise more Harry for you. Pieter has now served his purpose, as you'll see in our sixth paragraph, bel_ow.

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Chapter Eight: Fall into Winter**

Draco soon settled back into his familiar routine: weekly visits with Andromeda and Teddy, and his weekly community service hours at St. Mungo's.

The hospital still stunk, but he didn't hate going there as much as did before. Smelly as it was, he had chosen to come home to it rather than have sex on the beach with Pieter. So it couldn't have been all that bad.

In fact, Draco started to pay more attention to what was going on around him at the hospital. His few days in Greece had taught him that it was going to take more than a pretty face and a well-sculpted a…bdomen to get him over Harry Potter. He began to take more of an interest in the healers, nurses, and even the patients. After all, he wasn't meeting anyone while he was sequestered at Malfoy Manor brooding over Potter.

He felt drawn to the patients on the fourth floor – those suffering from spell damage. The research he had done into curses, hexes, and jinxes at Grimmauld Place gave him a better understanding of their problems. His supervisor, Healer Vargo, impressed with a couple of suggestions he had made, found more frequent opportunities to involve him in actual patient care, instead of the more menial tasks he had been given previously.

Just Draco's luck, too – as soon as the work at St. Mungo's became interesting to him, his obligation was nearly over. Soon, he would be finished working off his hours, and could call himself a free man – in theory, at least.

Draco was not, however, free of Harry Potter, and he was beginning to doubt that he would ever be completely free of him. He still owed the Gryffindor his life, for one thing. And though he hadn't given up hope entirely, he hadn't yet met anyone who could take Harry Potter's place in… his heart. Yes, damn it all: his heart. He had tried letting Pieter take Harry's place in bed, and that had not been enough. Draco had to face the awful truth that the empty spot Harry had left behind was in his heart. How perverted was that? All that time spent together at Hogwarts, they'd spent annoying the hell out of each other. And now – now that they were apart, most likely for good – Draco at last understood that he had come to like Harry. Maybe even to love him. The fates had a cruel sense of humor.

And sweet Mother of Merlin, when the HELL had he become "Harry" again anyway?

Andromeda was still giving him weekly updates on what was going on in Harry's life. For instance, thanks to his aunt's insider information, Draco knew about Harry's decision to become an Auror before it was splashed all across the Daily Prophet.

Andromeda invited him over on the first of August to break the news from Harry's birthday party the night before. "Before you read about it in the paper," she said, "I want you to have the whole story."

"Harry said he was taking Minister Shacklebolt up on his offer to join the Aurors, and that he wanted to begin the training program as soon as possible," Andromeda reported.

Harry had laughed, and said, "Ginny says I need to get a job so I don't just sit around the house and get fat."

Draco snorted, envisioning Harry patting his non-existent gut.

Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic, attended the party as well. He clapped Harry on the back. "Can you start next week?" he asked.

Draco fumed as Andromeda told him her story. How nice for Harry to have a gala event for a birthday party, attended by the Minister of Goddamned Magic, while Draco had gotten a clumsy attempt at an ill-fated threesome and a night passed out on a park bench.

But when Andromeda mentioned the pain in Harry's eyes, Draco remembered how Harry hated crowds and attention. He was probably almost as miserable on his nineteenth birthday as Draco had been on his own. Both birthdays should have been different – they should have been celebrated quietly, just the two of them, with a fine meal and sex. Lots and lots of sex.

Sadly, there would be no more such nights for Draco, at least not with Harry as a partner. One day, with luck, he might find someone to help him celebrate his birthday properly – though, obviously, no one was quite like Harry Potter. And anyone else would be a poor substitute.

Draco listened sullenly as Andromeda recounted how the Minister had spoken to the Weaselette, reminding her that once Harry became a fully-fledged Auror, his job would entail late nights and occasional travel.

"That's fine," she said, and Draco pictured the smug grin on her ugly freckled face. "I'll be traveling with my job as well, once the Quidditch season gets started. We'll work it out."

As of Harry's birthday, Zabini's prediction that Harry and the Weaslette would be married by the end of June was off by a month and counting. Regardless, everyone seemed to act as though it was inevitable. If Draco knew anything (which of course he did), it was that he could make Harry happier than the Weaslette ever could. It simply wasn't possible for him to be charitable toward the couple, under the circumstances.

Harry told him, at their dinner at Intimité last October, that he wasn't ready to join the Aurors, yet the Weaslette had succeeded in pushing him into it. Draco would never have done that. He knew Harry would eventually feel a need to go into some kind of public service. He would have allowed Harry to get there in his own time, on his own terms.

"The bint isn't even married to him yet, and she's already making decisions about his future for him," Draco complained.

"I don't know if they will get married, darling," said Andromeda.

Draco sat on a low stool and shot bubbles out of his wand for Teddy to pop. "You're the only one," he said. "Everyone else acts like it's only a matter of time." He sighed.

"The question in my mind," she said, "is why he needs any time at all. If he really wanted to do it, nothing would be holding him back. He has enough money to give her any kind of wedding and honeymoon she could want. He has a home ready for her to move into. He's had nothing but time for making plans and arrangements. But he hasn't even proposed to her."

"How do you know? Maybe they're keeping it a secret." Draco quelled the faint ray of hope that started to glow in his heart. "Harry is a very private person, after all."

Andromeda laughed. "Yes, Harry is an intensely private person. But Miss Weasley is not. Trust me, if he ever does propose – and I doubt that he will – the ENTIRE Wizarding world will know instantaneously. She would show her ring to any random strangers that cross her path, and probably invite them to the wedding as well."

Andromeda had a point.

"Still," he said. "She is at least living with him." It was just about as bad as her being married to him.

When there was no response from Andromeda for several seconds, Draco looked up from Teddy's bubble-chasing game to find his aunt sitting on the couch looking stunned.

"What?" he said.

"You- you thought she was living with him?"

"Isn't she?"

"Merlin's beard, no!" Andromeda raised the back of her hand to her forehead, as though she felt faint. "You thought that Molly Weasley would let her only daughter move in with him before they were married?"

Draco raised his eyebrows. He had, in fact, expected that the Weasel family would be so eager to attach their daughter to Harry's fame and fortune that they would have attached a giant bow to her arse and carted her off to Grimmauld Place straightaway.

"No, no, no," Andromeda said, shaking her head. "Miss Weasley is not living at Grimmauld Place. I'm sure she would like to move in with Harry, as she seems to fancy herself the Lady of the Manor, but it won't be happening without a wedding. Molly Weasley can be very proper about things. The two are only allowed to be alone together during daylight hours. Molly told me she sent a Howler once when the girl wasn't home by her curfew, and she has not had to send another one since."

Draco grinned at the idea of the Weaslette getting an earful of her mother's shrieks and having to Floo home in a grand sulk. So – she was not sleeping on Draco's side of the bed after all. That was the good news. The bad news: Draco knew first-hand that Harry was as perfectly capable of shagging during the day as he was at night.

Teddy chased down a bubble and popped it with a giggle. "Bye bye," he said.

Draco found Teddy's game much more amusing when he imagined each bubble as the Weaslette's head. Pop. Bye-bye! Pop. Bye-bye! He could have played the game all day.

As summer turned to fall, Harry's relationship status remained a topic of major interest to the readers of the Daily Prophet. The paper had been keeping a close eye on him, wanting, Draco imagined, to get the scoop when Harry proposed to the Weaslette. When August and then even September had elapsed with still no proposal, the gossip columnists started theorizing. One suggested that perhaps Harry was too emotionally wounded from the war to be able to commit to a relationship. Another suspected darker reasons – that the Dark Lord had put a curse on him that left his heart cold and unreachable. Yet another guessed that a war injury had left Harry unable to satisfy the demands of the marriage bed. Draco had half a mind to write in with a testimony that this last theory was completely unfounded, but he managed to conquer the urge.

In October, Draco completed his service hours at the hospital. Healer Vargo made a cake, wished him luck, and welcomed him back any time.

"You took a while to warm up to the place, but in the past few months I could tell you were learning a lot," she said. "If you ever decide you are interested in a career in the healing arts, I will be happy to write a recommendation for your application to the training program."

He thanked her, and had a second piece of his chocolate going-away cake. The cake, like the entire affair, was bittersweet.

The days slipped by, and Draco was surprised to find that he was more bored than usual without his community service work in his life. He marked his time in week-long increments: six days of monotony and malaise, lightened weekly by his visits with Teddy and Andromeda.

Two news items caught Draco's interest one day in the first week of November. First, the Daily Prophet and Andromeda both reported that Harry had completed his training and joined the Ministry as a fully-fledged Auror. The Daily Prophet ran a photo of him in his new Auror robes. He glowered almost fiercely (and rather sexily) into the camera, his jaw set with classic Harry Potter determination, while the Weaslette hung on his arm with a broad grin and waved.

"Lovely," said Draco, reading the paper over breakfast at Andromeda's house. "Bad enough that he'll be chasing down dark wizards who will want to do him harm. Now he'll also have to fight off the legions of witches who will be attempting to seduce him."

Andromeda laughed. "He does look intense in that photograph."

Draco rolled his eyes. "He's always intense." He was lost for a moment in private reflection, remembering the passion in Harry's eyes that had been all for him, only a year ago. He swallowed hard and shook his head to clear it.

The sports section would be all about Quidditch, as the season had just started. Draco wanted to check the score for his favorite team, the Montrose Magpies. He also hoped to find that the Holyhead Harpies had started their season with a dismal loss. It wasn't fair for the Weaslette to have Harry, and a job that paid her to fly a broom (particularly when Draco was so much better for Harry and blessed with so much natural talent on a broomstick), and on top of that to be on a winning team. Something had to give.

He turned another page to the sports section, and had to look twice to make sure he was on the right page. He was. Yet the usual photos of triumphant Quidditch players had been upstaged by a huge photo of Harry, sitting in the stands and (intensely, of course) watching a game. He wore a rosette supporting the Holyhead Harpies, naturally. He had gone to watch the Weaslette's first professional match.

The article was mostly about Harry, rather than about the actual match, and Draco had to read almost half of the column to find out that the Holyhead Harpies had won their game, and that their new celebrity player, Ginny Weasley, had scored 70 points.

Even the news that the Magpies had won their first match by 680 points could not lift his spirits.

Draco was in a funk straight through the Christmas holidays. Though Harry had still not proposed, he and the Weaslette were both frequently in the Daily Prophet, usually together. They attended the Ministry's annual Christmas Ball, and their picture made the front page. Harry looked very handsome in his dress robes. The Weaslette wore a dress that clashed with her hair.

Several weeks later, Narcissa called up to Draco to tell him that an owl had come with a message for him.

Baldur? Draco's heart nearly burst with irrational hope. Could the message be from Harry? He raced down the stairs from his bedroom to find a large tawny owl standing on his kitchen table and looking rather bored. Not Baldur. He hated that he had let down his guard, after all this time.

His vision inconveniently blurred, Draco removed the missive from the owl's leg, and fed it a treat from the jar kept on the counter. It accepted the treat, and flew out the window, not waiting for a reply. He unrolled the parchment, blinked to bring the writing into better focus, and read.

Holy hell – it was Pieter. Apparently, it was Valentine's Day – Draco glanced at the calendar to confirm this – and Pieter had been thinking of him.

"I understand you're not much of a skier," he had written, "so I won't try to tempt you into a weekend in the Alps. But this summer, I'll be home in Wiesbaden. You should visit me. We have hot springs, and in August there's a wine festival." He had signed it, "Thinking of you on Valentine's Day, Pieter."

Valentine's Day, and nothing to show for it but an invitation from Pieter to get hot, wet, and drunk together. If Draco wanted to get hot, wet, and drunk with someone, it certainly wasn't Pieter. He crumpled the message.

He had to admire Pieter's persistence, though. It had been almost eight months since Draco Flooed out of the villa, but Pieter's note made it seem as though it was only a few days ago, and that they had parted on a happier note.

What if Draco were to try the same thing, and send a note to Harry? The Weaslette would go fucking insane if Harry got a valentine from him. That was a powerful argument in favor of the plan, right there. A more powerful argument against it, however, was that Harry would likely get angry, too, if Draco were to reveal their history. He could instead send an anonymous valentine, but include something in the note that would leave Harry no doubt who it was from. Maybe just a reference to their dinner at Intimité.

He gathered parchment and a quill from the writing desk in the sitting room, and headed back upstairs to compose his note. Writing to Harry felt strange – so much time had passed. So much had changed. Despite Andromeda's constant suggestions that Harry still missed him, Draco was not confident that the note would be well received, even if unsigned.

Draco went through a lot of parchment. He couldn't get it right. His first try sounded too suggestive. His second sounded too vulnerable. His third, too pitiful. His fourth, too bitter. After a half-dozen attempts, Draco grabbed his wand and Vanished all the crumpled parchment, and the quill, too, for good measure. Hell, Harry probably got hundreds of valentines from witches – and maybe even other wizards – of all ages, who wanted a piece of the Great Hero. What was the use in writing? It would never be read.

What Draco really wanted, more than anything, was to see Harry. Just to see him. Harry's emotions played across his face like lightning across a night sky. Draco would know, instantly, if Harry were happy in his new life.

In early March, just a few weeks away, the Harpies would be playing the Magpies. Draco considered buying a ticket for the match. Unless Harry was away on an assignment, he would be there. What would happen if they were to come face to face for the first time in over a year? Would Harry acknowledge him as anything more than an acquaintance? They would, after all, be in public – and Harry had his precious reputation to think about. Of course, Harry would have to speak to him if…

When Andromeda answered his eager knock the following week, he stood on her doorstep holding three tickets in front of his face.

"I think it's high time Teddy attended a Quidditch match," he said. "I'm taking the three of us to a game next month."

Andromeda pulled a ticket from his hand and read it. When she looked up again, she tried her best to frown at him, but was not successful. "Magpies versus Harpies," she said, ushering him inside. "I'm so glad that Teddy has you to look out for his best interests."

"The best two teams in the league," said Draco. "I can't believe his godfather hasn't taken him out to a game yet. How will the boy survive his first year at Hogwarts if he doesn't have a working knowledge of Quidditch and a favorite team?"

"Never mind that he's got over nine years before he goes to school," she said. "We must start him on the right path as soon as possible."

"Exactly," he said. "I knew you would understand."

"Oh, I understand," she said, and winked at him. "And I don't mind one bit you using me and Teddy to get a chance to speak with Harry. It's not as foolproof as my idea of locking the two of you into a room until you work things out, but at least it might get you talking."

"I suppose you're right," Draco said, straight-faced. "If Harry is at the game, he will most likely want to say hello to you and Teddy."

Andromeda rolled her eyes. "Draco Malfoy," she said. "I grew up a Black. I am quite familiar with the concept of ulterior motives. Feel free to drop your pretense any time you like."

"Then you'll come with me?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," she said.

Draco frequently found his stomach in knots as the day of the game approached. His dreams of Harry, which had abated somewhat, became more vivid again. He had trouble concentrating on anything, and lost his appetite. He couldn't believe he would see Harry again so soon. Something was bound to go wrong – Harry would get called away on assignment and would miss the game, or Teddy would get sick and be unable to attend, or… something.

Five days before the Harpies-Magpies match, Andromeda showed up unexpectedly in the fireplace at Malfoy Manor, a crying Teddy clutched to her chest.

Draco ran to her and took Teddy, asking, "What's wrong?" He held Teddy out to inspect him quickly. The boy seemed frightened, but unhurt. His hair was rolling through colors so fast it was almost nauseating to watch.

"It's Harry," said Andromeda, and she stifled a sob. "He's… he's been kidnapped, Draco!"

Draco felt his knees go weak, and he nearly dropped Teddy.

"When?" he asked. "How? By whom? Why? Tell me everything you know." He tried to set Teddy on the floor, but the boy wouldn't let go. Draco picked him up again, and guided his aunt to a chair.

"I've just come from the Ministry," she said. She was shaking. "As if that poor boy hasn't been through enough! He doesn't even have any family left, so Kingsley called in everyone on the emergency contact list in his file: Hermione Granger; me, because of Teddy; and of course the Weasleys…"

Draco shook off the mention of the Weasleys. Harry had been kidnapped – he didn't have time for petty animosities. "What happened?" Draco asked. "Who did it?"

"A group calling themselves Protectors of the Magic Blood sent a letter this morning to Minister Shacklebolt claiming that they have Harry. They included a photo as proof. It looks authentic, and Harry can't be found anywhere. Kingsley believes the claim is genuine."

"Protectors of the Magic Blood? I think I've heard that name before. Does the Minister know who they are?"

Andromeda nodded. "He says they're a political group that believes You-Know-Who had the right idea about Wizarding blood lines – a fringe group, mostly made up of former Death Eaters."

"What do they want with Harry?" Draco clutched Teddy close. He was probably too young to understand what was going on, but Draco knew the boy was well aware that the adults were frightened.

"Oh, Draco, it's awful," she cried. "I'm so sorry."

"Sorry? What are you sorry about? What are they doing to him?"

"They say they will…" Andromeda glanced at Teddy. She drew her finger across her throat. "Unless the Ministry gives them what they want. They expect delivery at noon tomorrow."

"They're going to…." Draco's eyes were wide, and his heart pounded in his chest. "What are their demands? Shacklebolt is meeting their demands, isn't he?" How much money would they demand? How much was left in the Malfoy vault at Gringott's?

Andromeda drew a shaky breath. "The Minister is… weighing his options," she said. "He doesn't believe they would really follow through with their threat. If they did, they'd lose all their bargaining power, and guarantee themselves the Dementors' kiss when they are caught."

Draco breathed. He hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath. Of course Shacklebolt was right. They wouldn't kill Harry. Hell, Harry seemed to be pretty hard to kill anyway. The Dark Lord had… how many chances? And still didn't manage it. Still, with no mother to take a hit for him, no parental protection in his blood, and no bit of Dark Lord soul to shield him… He shook off the thought. Harry would survive. That's what Harry did – he survived. It was his most significant skill. He wasn't The Boy Who Lived for nothing.

"How much ransom have they demanded?"

"I'm afraid they don't want money, Draco," Andromeda said softly. Her eyes filled with tears.

"What is it, then?" Draco was motionless, awaiting the answer.

"They want the release of a political prisoner," she said.

"Who?" His head felt like it was buzzing.

"Your father, darling." Andromeda reached out and cupped his cheek in her hand. "They want Lucius. They see him as a leader, a man who stands for what they believe in."

Draco's heart dropped into his bowels. His own father was the reason Harry was in danger. He leapt to his feet.

"You say you just left Shacklebolt's office?"

"Yes," she said.

"Was he alone when you left him?"

"No, no – of course not," she said. "Miss Granger and the Weasleys were still there, and some of his top Aurors as well."

"Let's go," Draco said, starting toward the fireplace.

"Draco, what are you doing?" Andromeda stood, but stayed rooted in place.

"Come on, Dromeda," he said, grabbing some Floo Powder with the arm that was not full of Teddy. "We're going to the Ministry."

After passing the still whimpering Teddy back to Andromeda, Draco marched into Kingsley Shacklebolt's office past Granger, at least a half-dozen Weasleys, and several people he didn't recognize.

Andromeda followed, settling Teddy on her hip.

"Mr. Malfoy," said the Minister. "What is the meaning of this?"

Draco placed his hands on the Minister's desk, and leaned over to look the man right in the eye.

"I have to be the one to save Harry," he said.

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_A/N: Will Kingsley go along with Draco's plan? Will Hermione learn who switched her Sleek-eeze's for Lady Carlee's Curling Cream? Will Firenze be appointed the next sex-ed teacher at Hogwarts? The answers to these and many more questions on the next episode of Soap! I mean, SoC!_


	9. Chapter 9: Sprung

Standard Disclaimer: We do not own Potter or Draco, which – in our opinions – is a damned shame. We're not making any money from writing this story (another shame). Everything you recognize belongs to J.K. Rowling. The dirty parts belong to us!

_A/N: Special thanks again to **AliciaMarie4 **and **KingAsher142 **for fact-checking and impartial opining._

_A/N2: Apologies to anyone who expected this chapter a few days ago. It took longer to beta than we thought, because we both actually had social engagements this week. (OMG! Spending time with people IRL?) Plus, it's about twice as long as some of our other chapters. The good news is that the remaining two chapters are already mostly written. Hope to have them up for you very soon._

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* * *

Chapter Nine: Sprung**

Behind him, Draco heard several chairs scrape the floor as their occupants leapt to their feet.

"No," shouted someone. It sounded like the Weasel. "He hates Harry! He's going to help the kidnappers – he's only saying he'll help because he thinks he can somehow get his father out of Azkaban!"

Draco ignored the outburst, and kept his eyes trained on Kingsley Shacklebolt. "I'm the best person to do it," he said. "You need someone to play the part of my father, to make the kidnappers believe they are getting what they want. Anyone could use Polyjuice Potion to look like my father. I, however, am the only person who can actually behave like a Malfoy, and who can answer any questions they might ask to confirm his identity."

The Minister leaned back in his chair and was silent for a moment. Then he nodded slowly. "Tell me more of this plan of yours, Malfoy."

"Don't be daft, Kingsley," yelled the Weasel from somewhere behind Draco. "Don't listen to him – it's all part of some evil plan of his!"

"You send notice to the kidnappers that you're releasing my father," Draco said. "That a Ministry representative will escort him to the meeting place for the exchange. We make the exchange, Harry for me. I'll have a Portkey in my pocket to get me out of there. I won't have any trouble escaping. The kidnappers won't be expecting it, because they'll believe I'm really Lucius Malfoy."

Shacklebolt rubbed a hand over his bald head. "You make a good argument, Malfoy. I'll take it under consideration."

"We don't have time for consideration, Minister. We have to get everything ready by tomorrow at noon, when they've demanded delivery of my father. You need me. I'm the only one who can do it."

"How do we know we can trust you?" It was Granger this time, far calmer and more analytical than her idiot Weasel boyfriend. "You don't have a good track record, where Harry is concerned." She met his gaze and raised an eyebrow in a manner Draco associated with his father, as if implying she had secret evidence against him.

Draco took a deep breath. All this dissention was wasting time, and there was precious little of that to be spared. He turned to face the room.

"What you mean to say, Granger, is that in your experience I have not been a friend to Harry. Your information, however, is out of date. While you were back at Hogwarts, Harry and I did become friends. He never told any of you, because he was afraid of how you would react."

A long moment of silence ensued. It was broken by a chuckle, which deepened and built in volume until it was a roar of laughter.

"My gods, Malfoy," said Fred – no, George: Fred was the one who died – as he wiped tears from his eyes. "That's the best joke I've heard in a long time. You having a secret friendship with Harry – that's rich!"

Nervous laughter began to bubble from other places in the room.

"Damn you, Weasley," Draco shouted over the din. "I'm not joking - this is no laughing matter. You people are wasting my time...and Harry's. Someone has to go after him and it needs to be me!"

That shut everyone up. Except Granger, of course. She always had to have the right answer before anyone else. Some things never change.

"It- It's not that crazy, actually," she said. "Remember how Harry testified at Malfoy's trial, and kept him out of Azkaban?"

"No," said the Weaslette, speaking for the first time. "He has to be lying." Her voice shook. "It- it can't be true. Harry wouldn't… he wouldn't keep something like that from me."

"Of course it's true," said Andromeda, from the back of the room. Heads turned. "The boys became very close after that trial, taking Teddy on a number of outings together." She walked forward and joined Draco in front of Shacklebolt's desk. "So unless any of you want to suggest that I, too, am a liar, I suggest you listen to my nephew's plan. He only has Harry's best interests at heart." She glared at the Weasels and Weaslette.

"Koko," said Teddy, and reached out for Draco. "Koko hold."

Draco took Teddy, whose hair brightened instantly, and Draco felt calmer just holding him.

"Look," he said, "I'll do whatever it takes. If you want me to show you a memory, just bring me a Pensieve. If you want me to take Veritaserum, just give me the flask. Whatever it takes. We've got to get to work on the plan to rescue him."

"That won't be necessary," said Shacklebolt. "Andromeda's testimony is good enough for me. Anyone else need more proof?"

No one spoke.

"Good," he continued. "I'll ask all of Harry's friends to leave then, so that the Aurors and I can go over the details of Malfoy's plan with him." He turned toward a group of people Draco didn't recognize. "We'll need one of you to go with Malfoy as the Ministry escort. Any volunteers?"

"Wait," said Draco. Granger and the assembled Weasleys had started moving toward the door. They turned back, curious. "There's only one person I would trust to go on this rescue mission with me."

"Don't push your luck, Malfoy," said Shacklebolt. "I am the Minister, and as such, I am in charge of this operation. I appreciate your desire to help and your willingness to disguise yourself as your father, but I will choose who from my staff will go with you."

"It needs to be someone who knows how Harry thinks," said Draco, undaunted. "Someone who has been with him through one dangerous situation after another. Someone who understands Harry almost as well as she understands herself."

Gasps came from a number of ginger-haired bodies, and all eyes turned toward Granger.

"You want ME?"

"It has to be you," said Draco. "How many times have you saved Harry's life?"

She blushed. "Maybe one or two times fewer than he's saved mine," she said.

"I've saved his life, too," said the Weasel.

"No," said Draco. "Granger's got the knowledge and the experience, and I trust her not to lose her head in a potentially dangerous situation."

The Weasel's mouth opened to protest. Then he shut it again, unable to argue the point.

"Hermione," said Kingsley, "please stay behind. The rest of you may go. You may return tomorrow morning at eleven if you want to wait here with me while Mr. Malfoy goes to retrieve Harry. I'll alert you if anything changes."

"Time to go, Teddy," said Draco. "I'll see you later." He passed the boy back to Andromeda.

"Go get our Harry," said Andromeda. "And do come back in one piece, won't you?"

He bent to kiss her on the cheek. "Thanks, Dromeda," he said. "I'll be careful."

Granger agreed to help, as Draco had known she would. She loved Harry, too, in her own way. After much discussion, Shacklebolt conceded that Granger's experience qualified her for the job, despite the fact that she was not a trained Auror. With the help of Dawlish and Proudfoot, two Aurors with specialties in hostage situations, they finalized the plan.

Draco would disguise himself as his father, and Granger would disguise herself as Dawlish. They would drink their Polyjuice potions at five minutes to noon, giving them fifty-five minutes to complete the mission before their appearances changed back. At precisely noon, the Portkey sent by the kidnappers along with their ransom note would take them to wherever Harry was being held.

At that point, the plan became more fluid. They would have to read the situation and act accordingly. The simplest outcome would be that the kidnappers would hand over Harry as promised, and Granger would Apparate away with him. Draco would follow by Portkey later, vanishing from right under the kidnapper's noses. No one had any expectations that it would be that easy.

"We have to assume the place is warded," said Shacklebolt, "or Harry would have escaped by now."

"Harry knows something about putting up and taking down wards," said Granger. "We did it every day when we were in hiding, searching for Voldemort's Horcruxes. If he's still there, it's because they've taken his wand."

"Or because he's hurt," added Draco. "I learned some emergency Healing techniques while at St. Mungo's. If he's injured, I'll be able to help him."

Shacklebolt nodded. "Right," he said. "You two make a surprisingly good team. Malfoy, your job then will be to stabilize Potter if he needs medical care. Hermione, you focus on getting the wards down. If you can't break them, neither Apparation nor Portkeys will work to get you all home."

"I'll get them down," Granger said confidently.

"It's essential that you do," said Dawlish. "You will both have back-up Portkeys to get you out of there even if your wands are taken. Keep an eye on the time. We'll set them to activate just before your Polyjuice wears off. Granger, yours will go first. Malfoy, yours will be set for one minute later."

"Standard operating procedure," said Proudfoot. "If everything goes utterly to hell, that one minute could save your lives. It gives you one last chance to get everyone out safely, if you can get to the others in time."

"Standard operating procedure isn't good enough here," argued Shacklebolt. "I'm sending two young wizards without Auror training into a hostile situation. I need more insurance than a back-up Portkey. Give me a way to track their location and a communication method, so that they can call for help if they need it, and we'll know where to send it."

"Protean Charm," said Granger, just as Draco said, "Enchanted coins." They were both well versed in using coins for communication. Granger had used them to train in defense behind Umbridge's back. Draco had used them with an Imperiused Madam Rosmerta when he tried to poison Dumbledore.

Granger's eyes shot daggers at him. "Malfoy and I will each have a coin, and you as well, Minister," she said. "We'll apply a Protean Charm so either of us can make the coins show our location and status."

Shacklebolt raised an eyebrow. "Good thinking," he said.

"It was Granger's idea," said Malfoy, wanting to keep the peace with her.

"The only problem is that you may not know your location," said Dawlish. "I suggest we put a trace on something – maybe on their coins."

"Maybe on an extra wand, instead," said Granger. "We'll likely need one. There's a good chance that I'll be disarmed as soon as we arrive. Even if I'm not, it might be helpful to have a spare wand for Harry, in case we need to fight our way out. They'll certainly have taken his."

Shacklebolt looked at her proudly, as though she were his own daughter. "Yes," he said. He gave them all their orders. "Proudfoot, you take care of getting a spare wand and putting a trace on it. Dawlish, get Hermione a set of your clothes, and collect two flasks of Polyjuice Potion from the Auror Department supply room. Malfoy, you'll need a set of your father's clothes, and a hair for the Polyjuice. Hermione, can you create those enchanted coins before tomorrow morning?"

She beamed. "I'll have them ready."

Draco Flooed home with orders to eat well, get some sleep, and return at nine the next morning. He was too restless to even think about sleeping, though. His brain kept running simulations of the rescue, looking for anything they'd forgotten.

He was glad to have Granger on the team. Annoying though she could be, she was not one to let emotions get in her way. She would stay focused on their goals, use every tool at her disposal, and not allow herself to give into fear until the mission was complete.

He wasn't sure he trusted himself to do the same. How would he handle the hatred Harry would direct at him, when he thought he saw Lucius Malfoy out of Azkaban and consorting again with blood purists? Or worse: would he be able to hold himself together if they found Harry gravely injured?

This was not at all how he had planned his reunion with Harry – with himself disguised as his father, and both their lives in danger – AND he'd endangered Granger's life, too, by insisting she come along. Harry would never forgive him if something were to happen to her.

Draco gave up on sleep for the moment, deciding instead to peruse the library for anything that might be of assistance. The Malfoy family collection must have some books about Healing. He should review them, just in case. Was it normal for people to revise before going on a rescue mission? The whole enterprise was so much more…Gryffindor… than anything Draco had ever done before. Charging off to save people was usually Harry's domain.

He scanned the shelves, pulled down a couple of titles that looked like they might be helpful, and dropped into a chair to read. It was hard to focus on reading, however, with his nerves stretched so tight. Bits and pieces of information looked familiar – he'd seen the Healers at St. Mungo's using a variety of spells in their work. They used several potions, too. In lieu of bringing an entire arsenal of Healing draughts on the mission, Draco realized that tucking a vial or two of some key potions in his boot might be wise. Luckily, he had contacts at St. Mungo's.

He rose and crossed to the desk, pulling out parchment and a quill. He jotted a quick note to Healer Vargo, asking for a small vial of Blood Replenishing Potion and a Bezoar, just in case. He just said he was working on a special project for the Minister and wanted to be prepared for anything.

On his way out of the library to send the note off by owl, Draco's eye was drawn to a stack of old books on a high shelf. The Dark Magic books he'd left at Grimmauld Place: he'd just stuffed them up there after Andromeda brought them over that Christmas Day. No point hiding them from his sight now. He'd done that so he wouldn't have to think about Harry, but under the circumstances, Harry was all he could think about anyway.

Dark Magic. If he spent any more time preparing for the mission, those would be the books to study. Hadn't his curse-breaking experience had been useful at St. Mungo's? He summoned the books, and left the library with them under his arm.

After sending forth Garuda, the family eagle owl, with his request, Draco returned to his room. He sat on his bed and spread out the books Harry had returned to him.

Where to start? So many books… and there was so little time.

In fact – there were too many books. Had he really left seven books at Harry's? He thought there had been an even half-dozen. He picked each one up in turn. They looked so similar: dirty old covers of indistinct color, crumbling yellow pages, and half-peeled titles rendered almost illegible. One of them, though, was definitely unfamiliar. At one time, the cover might have been blue. It was smaller than the rest. Draco couldn't make out much of the title – Mysteryes of… something. He opened it carefully, hoping to find the rest of the title in the first pages of the book.

A folded, new-looking piece of parchment was tucked inside the front cover. Hardly daring to breathe, Draco unfolded it. Tears sprang to his eyes as he recognized Harry's untidy scrawl at once.

"Draco," he read. "I've been an idiot and I'm sorry. No disguises anymore. Meet me for dinner at the Leaky Cauldron at six on New Year's Day. Let's talk – I know we can work this out. I miss you." It was signed simply, "Harry." A postscript at the bottom read, "I picked this book up for you for Christmas. Borgin sent notice of it two days after you left. It looks awfully creepy. Enjoy?"

Buggering FUCK! Fifteen months ago, Harry wanted him back. Harry wanted to meet him, in a public Wizarding establishment, to talk things out… and Draco had fucking missed it! No wonder Harry hadn't made contact in all this time – Draco had the Quaffle, and he'd dropped it. Harry must have thought that Draco didn't want to see him anymore. And eventually, believing that Draco was no longer interested, Harry had moved on, and gone back to that little ginger hag. Shit, shit, SHIT!

Seized by anxiety, Draco leapt to his feet and began pacing. Thank Circe he had finally found the note, and now understood Harry's silence. How fucking idiotic for them both to be feeling rejected, all because of one undelivered message. But now that he knew… Draco had a chance to fix everything. He would see Harry tomorrow. If Harry still missed him, still wanted him back, Draco would see to it that they'd not waste another day. He would let nothing stand in his way of rescuing Harry.

He strode back to the bed, opened the new book, and began to read. He would be prepared for anything those kidnappers could throw at him. He read for hours, until he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer.

He was awakened by a banging sound: Garuda had returned, a small pouch tied to his leg. Sunlight streamed through the window; the clock said half past seven. Draco retrieved the Blood Replenishing Potion and Bezoar from the pouch, along with a note from Healer Vargo wishing him luck. He needed all the luck he could get – in only four and a half hours, he would be facing unknown dangers.

He arrived at the Ministry well before nine, wearing his father's clothes. Granger was already waiting outside the Minister's office, drinking coffee out of a disposable paper cup that Draco recognized as coming from Harry's favorite Muggle coffee shop. She looked as though she hadn't slept much, either.

Draco sat beside her on a small bench. "Got the coins?"

She jingled them in her pocket. "Got the hair?"

He pulled an envelope from his pocket. "I've got more than that, though." He showed her the potion and the Bezoar.

"Good thinking, Malfoy," she said.

"You don't have to sound so surprised," he growled.

"I am surprised, though," she said. "Not by you thinking of the Bezoar, so much as by you being so committed to helping Harry."

"I told you yesterday," he said. "We became friends while you were back at school."

"I knew about your 'friendship' with Harry," she said, fixing him in her gaze, "I also know that you haven't been 'friends' for some time now. You fought, he tried to fix it, and you ignored him. And now here you are, ready to charge in and save him. I don't understand you."

Draco's jaw had dropped open. "You- you knew?" And apparently she knew they'd been something more than friends.

"He told me. When you left, you hurt him, Malfoy. I knew something was wrong over Christmas, and asked about it. He wouldn't tell me. But then, when you didn't show up at the Leaky Cauldron, he was devastated. He didn't know where to turn. So he owled me, took me for a walk in a park, and gave me the whole story." She drained the last of her coffee.

Draco put his head in his hands, elbows on his knees. "Harry wasn't the only one hurt when I left," he said.

"He tried to move on with his life, and I supported him," she said. "He hasn't been happy, though… Not for a long time. I think he needs you. So, even though I'm still upset with you for standing him up on New Years Day, I'll work with you. You act like you're ready to make it up to him, and I suppose even you deserve another chance."

"Your facts are still incomplete, Granger," Draco said.

"Then fill me in, Malfoy," she said. "What am I missing? What can explain how you can break a man's heart, and then turn up a year later insisting you're the only one who can save him?"

Draco sighed. "What you're missing, Granger, is what I missed. Harry's note. I didn't find it until about three o'clock this morning. Next time he tries to make up with someone, he ought to make his note a bit more visible. As far as I knew, I left and that was it. He returned my things, and never said a word. Next thing I know, he's back with the Wea- with Ginny Weasley."

Now it was Granger's mouth hanging open. "You didn't know!" She slapped her forehead with her palm. "Even yesterday, when you came here insisting that you alone could rescue him, you didn't know. You thought… oh, Gods."

She threw her arms around him. "You thought he was with Ginny, and you still came here to save him. That's the most romantic thing I've ever heard!" Her bushy hair tickled Draco's nose. She clung to him for quite some time, making the occasional sniffling noise.

She only released him when the door to Shacklebolt's office opened, and the Minister's deep voice said, "There, there, Hermione. We'll get him back, don't you worry."

By eleven, they were all ready. The only thing left was to drink the Polyjuice Potion. They couldn't do that until right before noon.

Ginger spectators trickled in. The Weasel kissed Granger and told her to be careful, as if she wouldn't have figured that out on her own. The Weaslette hugged her and repeated the advice. They both glared at Draco. He didn't care. He didn't need their trust or affection. It was only Granger's trust that mattered now, if they were going to be successful, and he knew he had it.

At ten minutes before the hour, Dawlish and Proudfoot led them into a small room, and produced two flasks of a mud-like substance. Draco dropped his father's long blond hair (plucked from the shoulder of one of his father's robes) into his flask of Polyjuice. Dawlish pulled a hair from his own head, and put it into the other flask for Granger. She had already changed into wizards' robes that were far too big for her. They raised their flasks to each other.

"I don't usually enjoy this," Granger said, her eye on the clock. At five minutes to noon, she tipped her flask to her lips and drank. Draco did the same.

Even though potion tasted awful, the change itself didn't hurt. Draco's hair grew rapidly, his face and his frame filled out. Other than that, his appearance didn't change much.

Granger, however, had grown about a half a foot. Her shoulders broadened, and her hair shortened and turned gray and wiry. Her face was completely different. Her breasts disappeared. It was incredible – she was indistinguishable from Dawlish, who was standing on her other side.

"Damn," Draco said, feeling his own face. "Do I look like my father?"

"For the next hour," she said grimly, "you ARE Lucius Malfoy, and I am John Dawlish." She glanced at the clock again. "Ready or not, Malfoy, here we go."

The real Dawlish collected their flasks as Proudfoot conjured a pair of handcuffs. He placed them over Draco's wrists, but did not lock them. They looked authentic enough to fool the kidnappers, while still allowing Draco to get to his hidden wand easily. Then Dawlish handed Granger the Portkey that had been sent with the ransom note – an old black sock, badly in need of darning.

They all watched the clock as the second-hand ticked forward. Draco took a deep breath. Moments later he expelled it as the Portkey engaged, jerking him around as they spun through space. They landed roughly in a shabby garden, enclosed by high hedges.

"Expelliarmus!" shouted a deep voice from behind them.

The wand in Granger's hand flew into the air and landed in the bushes – it was the spare. Her own wand was holstered under her robe. She would be able to get to it quickly if needed.

"Just a precaution," the voice said. "Can't have you stunning us all and taking us into custody, now can we?"

"They did it," said another voice – rougher, and not as deep. "They've given us Malfoy."

"I told you Potter was a valuable commodity," said a female. "His stupid girlfriend wouldn't shut up about how important he was. Maybe this will teach her she shouldn't brag so much."

Draco clenched his teeth to keep from cursing. The goddamned Weaslette was responsible for this? He'd fucking kill her.

Beside him, Granger turned toward the voices. "And have you kept your end of the bargain? Where is Potter?" She grabbed Draco by the arm and yanked him around as well. "You're not getting Malfoy until I have Potter."

Four people faced them – three males and the one female. Harry was not among them.

Two of the males were familiar. The deep-voiced one who had disarmed Granger was Theodore Nott's father. Even as Draco searched his mind for the other one's name, he realized that it was not a good sign that the kidnappers were allowing their faces to be seen. They had no intention of allowing Granger/Dawlish to return to the Ministry with Harry. Granger's sharp mind had doubtless realized this as soon as she turned around.

"We'll get him in a moment," said the one Draco was trying to place.

The voice helped. He remembered the raspy voice speaking to the Dark Lord once during the planning of Dumbledore's death… Judd… no, Judson… no! Jugson! Galen Jugson. And now he was able to place the woman as well – Jugson's sister, Galatea – a beater on the Holyhead Harpies. There was just the last man to identify.

"We need to ask a few questions first," said Jugson, "to make sure this ain't a Ministry trick. What's something Lucius Malfoy would know that other people wouldn't know?"

"His wife's birthday," suggested Nott.

"Please, Nott," drawled Draco-as-Lucius. "Don't you think anyone trying to impersonate me would know Narcissa's birthday is the sixteenth of August? You can do better than that." He sneered at the man.

"That's Malfoy, all right," laughed Jugson. "Putting Nott in his place as always."

"He looks pretty good for having spent so much time in Azkaban," said his sister, apparently not convinced.

Draco bowed his head almost imperceptibly in acknowledgement of her compliment. "Prison, no matter how crude an environment, is not enough to mar the benefits of good breeding and a skilled tailor," he said. "You are looking healthy yourself." He raised his eyebrows at her in a mildly suggestive way.

She blushed. For Salazar's sake, the burly wench blushed like a fucking schoolgirl. Malfoy charm was a formidable force.

"That's got to be him," she said. "That kind of arrogance can't be faked."

Draco smirked.

Granger gave him a shove, playing her part perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. "Good Godric, Malfoy. You're out of prison a total of two hours, and you're already trying to get your dick wet. Not even going to wait until you're out of the handcuffs before you get the poor thing out of her pants, are you?"

Who knew Granger could talk like that?

Jugson scowled to have his sister mocked, while the other two laughed heartily. Galatea blushed more deeply, but appeared excited, rather than offended by the remark.

"Enough of the pleasantries, then," said Granger. "Give me Potter, and I'll give you Malfoy, so he can get on with his conquest."

"Get Potter for our guest," Jugson growled. The third man disappeared inside the house.

Draco's heart raced. Just a few seconds more and he'd see Harry. With his hands cuffed behind him, he twisted the Malfoy family ring on his finger, waiting.

The man reappeared, with Harry floating rigidly behind him. Draco felt Granger stiffen beside him. He fought to remain in character as his father. "How wise of you," he said. "That is probably the only state in which Potter would be bearable for longer than ten minutes. How long have you had him?"

Anything from Petrificus Totalis to several poisons could produce such profound paralysis. If it was a poison, how long had it been working in Harry's body?

"Since lunchtime yesterday," Galatea Jugson answered. "It was easy to get him – his annoying little girlfriend talks about him so much we knew exactly where he would be."

"That insipid Weasley girl, still, I presume," said Draco. "I have not been keeping up with the society pages lately, under the circumstances. You'll forgive me if I have missed anything of note."

"This is unacceptable," said Granger. "Lift the curse from Potter. I need to know he is unharmed before I can release Malfoy to you."

"You are in no position to be making demands," growled Jugson. "You'll take him like this or you won't take him at all."

He turned to leer at the third man. "Go on, then, Edwards. Send Potter on over."

Edwards, then. The name didn't ring any bells for Draco. Edwards levitated Harry's body over and deposited him face down on the pale, patchy grass. Draco winced to see him treated so callously.

"Here you go," Edwards said, and laughed. "If you can't fix him, maybe you can just put him in the center of a fountain, for people to throw coins at."

Draco fought his impulse to tear out of the handcuffs, draw his wand, and start firing curses. He may not have been able to murder Dumbledore, but he could murder these four without a second thought.

Granger knelt next to Harry, and rolled him onto his back. Then she made an awful gurgling sound, and her eyes rolled up until only the whites showed under Dawlish's gray fringe. She collapsed, twitched, and was still.

What the fuck curse was that? Something she touched must have been cursed – maybe the shirt Harry was wearing. Maybe it was something like the curse on that necklace Draco had tried to get to Dumbledore through Madam Rosmerta. He might be able to do something about it, if he were left alone with Granger for a few minutes.

Draco had counted on having Granger's oversized brain with him on this mission. Now he was alone, needing to rescue both Harry and Granger, both of whom were incapacitated by unknown means. Yet he had to continue to act like his father, or he would surely be discovered and cursed as well. Someone at least needed to stay healthy enough to call in the Aurors with the enchanted Galleon, if nothing else. And what about getting the wards down? What the fuck was he to do?

"Someone Vanish these damned handcuffs," he said. "They're beginning to chafe."

Galatea approached and did as he asked. He rubbed his wrists, as he prodded Granger/Dawlish with the toe of his boot. "What did you hit him with?"

Jugson laughed. "You like that one? It is dramatic, but short-lived. It'll wear off soon. By then, though, he'll be our prisoner. Potter alone was enough to get you released: we might be able to get another release or two if the Ministry wants to get either of these two back."

Short-lived was good. But would it be short-lived enough? "It's ingenious," said Draco. "The curse is in his clothing?"

"His shirt, yeah," said Galatea. "We figured they'd touch him pretty quick because they'd be worried about him. This arsehole didn't even last ten seconds!" She laughed again, and kicked Granger in the leg.

"Nott," called Jugson, "go collect his wand – it flew over that way. I think I saw it land in that bush. And Edwards – get these two into the cellar, and quickly. I recognize this Ministry fuck. He's an Auror, but I don't know his name. Anyone know who've we got here?"

"It's Dawlish," said Draco. "John Dawlish. I've faced him many times. In fact, I owe him. If you don't mind, I can take him to the cellar myself. I'd love to exact a bit of… retribution… when he awakens."

"He's all yours," said Jugson, gesturing into the house.

"May I?" said Draco, and nodded toward Jugson's wand. "I no longer am in possession of my own wand, and have not yet been at leisure to replace it."

"Nott," said Jugson. "Bring Dawlish's wand to Malfoy. He can have it."

Draco smiled. "How fitting," he drawled. "I look forward to showing Dawlish what his wand is capable of in the hands of a TRUE wizard."

He took the wand, and levitated both Harry and Granger. It was difficult, the way it had been difficult using his mother's wand while Harry had his. He had to concentrate very hard on what he was doing, or they started to drop toward the ground.

Edwards opened the doors for him and led him to the cellar stairs. Draco guided the floating bodies as carefully as he could without appearing to be too gentle. He winced internally every time he accidentally bounced one of them against the wall or the ceiling – although, at this point, a few extra bruises were the least of their problems.

"How long will it take to wear off?" he asked Edwards.

"Don't know," he said. "Jugson said it would be quick, though."

Draco conjured a pair of handcuffs like the ones the real Dawlish had made for him earlier. He waved them in front of Edwards's face. "I'll put him in these," he said, though he had no intention of using them. "Give him a taste of his own potion."

"Nice," said Edwards, nodding.

"I shall remain here," said Draco, glancing around the cellar with a sniff of disdain. "You'll know when he awakens. His screams of agony will alert you that it's time to come and witness how the Dark Lord dealt with those who defied him."

"You want me to see if Galatea wants to wait with you?" Edwards leered at Draco. "I think she'd be willing. She's a big fan of yours. It was her what suggested this whole plan, once her teammate started yammering so much about Potter."

Repulsive. "One pleasure at a time, Edwards. I'll get to her soon enough. First, I have my appointment with Dawlish, here." He gestured at the limp form of Granger. "Then perhaps I can spend some quality time with your charming associate," he added, barely managing to stifle a shudder.

"Right," said Edwards. He started up the stairs.

"Edwards," called Draco.

The man stopped.

"What did you do with Potter's wand? I assume you took it from him when you captured him. I… I am curious about the wand that took down the Dark Lord. It must be a wand of immense power."

"Jugson's got it up in one of the bedrooms," said Edwards. "I've held it. It doesn't seem to be anything special. You can see it later, if you want."

"I would like that," Draco said.

He waited until he heard the door close behind Edwards before he moved. He swapped the spare wand for his own, and crept close to Harry. Cautious not to touch Harry's shirt, he inspected him.

His eyes were closed. He almost looked as if he were sleeping, except that he was stiff – like a statue. If he was breathing, or his heart was beating, Draco couldn't tell. He was filthy, from being dumped face first on the ground, but he had no obvious injuries.

His glasses were broken. Draco cursed Edwards under his breath as he removed Harry's glasses and wiped the lenses. Tenderly, he cleaned the dirt off of Harry's face with the hem of his robes. He pointed his wand at the frames, and muttered "Reparo." Then he gently slipped them back onto Harry's face.

There. He looked better, at least. But what had they done to him?

Start with the simplest possibility. Maybe it was just Petrificus Totalis. "Finite Incantatem," he whispered. It was worth a shot. There was, however, no change in Harry's condition.

Still, it was progress. If nothing else, Draco had at least narrowed the possibilities. The next simplest solution was to try the Bezoar. If the paralysis were due to a poison, that should cure him. If not… Draco would have to get creative. He slipped the Bezoar out of his boot, and put it into Harry's mouth. How long should it take to work?

Not long, thankfully. Within a minute, Harry started to stir. Draco's heart leapt. He wanted to grab Harry and kiss him. Luckily, he remembered at the last second that Harry's shirt was cursed – and that Harry would not take kindly to being kissed by Lucius Malfoy.

"Silencio," Draco whispered. He couldn't risk Harry yelling when he saw his companion in the cellar.

Harry opened his eyes, and saw Draco – saw Lucius. He opened his mouth to shout, and nothing came out.

"Harry," whispered Draco. "It's me, Draco." He looked over his shoulder. They were still alone. How long until someone came to check on him? "I'm Polyjuiced to look like my father, and that's Granger – Hermione – over there." He gestured with his wand. "She'll be okay once the spell wears off, but I'm not sure how long that will take. You've been kidnapped by blood purists. They demanded Father's release in exchange for your life. I told Kingsley I had to be the one to come get you. I- Harry, I only just found your note – the one in the book – this morning. I would have met you."

Tears sprang to Harry's eyes. He moved slowly, weakly, and pointed to his throat.

"Oh, right," said Draco. "I just couldn't risk you yelling when you saw me like this." He ended the Silencing Charm.

"Draco," whispered Harry. "I can't believe you're here." He struggled to sit up. "Help me," he said, reaching out his arms.

"Wait," said Draco. "There's a curse on your shirt – when Gra-Hermione touched it, she wound up like that."

"Vanish it," said Harry.

"I…" If he Vanished the shirt, and Jugson and the others came downstairs, they would know something was wrong. "Okay," he said. "I'll just need to conjure you a new one."

"Wait," said Harry. "Maybe we can use it. Can you… can you cut it off of me, instead of Vanishing it? We may need to throw it at the kidnappers to escape."

"Good thinking," came a weak voice. They both turned to see Dawlish's body stirring.

"Thank Merlin you're okay," whispered Harry. "I couldn't stand it if either of you got hurt trying to rescue me." His eyes shone brightly behind his still slightly smudged lenses.

"Listen, both of you," said Draco. "We haven't much time. They'll be back soon, expecting me to be torturing Dawlish. If I have to, I'll hit you with the Cruciatus, but without me intending to hurt you it won't be too bad. You may need to put on quite an act for them, though."

Granger nodded.

Draco got to work cutting Harry's shirt off of him. "Diffindo," he whispered. He carefully cut the shirt up the back, then levitated it off of Harry's torso and into a corner of the cellar, beneath the stairs.

As soon as he was free of the shirt, Harry threw his arms around Draco's neck. "Draco," he breathed. He pulled Draco's lips toward his own and kissed him hungrily.

Gods, it was brilliant to have Harry in his arms again, to kiss him, to feel his body pressed up against him. To know that – whatever had happened in the past year – Harry still wanted him. Draco could have lived in that moment forever.

"Ahem," said Granger, sounding for all the world like a tenor version of Umbridge. "May I remind you," she said, "that you told me and Ron that the middle of battle was not the best time for a snog."

Harry released Draco and broke the kiss. "Sorry," he said as a flush stole up his cheeks.

"Besides," she said, her tone light and teasing, "it's rather disturbing to see you kissing Draco's father." Then she became more serious. "Right now, though, we've got to get out of here – all of us." She pulled her real wand from its holster, and conjured an exact replica of the ruined shirt for Harry. She held it out for him.

"Right," said Draco. "I… meant to do that."

"Until I distracted him," added Harry, with an impish grin. He took the new shirt and put it on. "What's the plan?" he asked.

"I've got to get the wards down, and then I'm to Apparate to Kingsley's office with you. Draco will get away when he can, either Apparating or by Portkey."

Draco handed Harry the extra wand. "Take this," he said. "I'm going to see if I can get your wand away from the kidnappers before I go."

"Then I'm staying, too," said Harry. "There's no way I'm leaving you here."

"No," said Draco. "Until my Polyjuice wears off, I'm relatively safe here. Even if they discover you gone, I'll make up a story about Dawlish coming to, taking my wand, breaking the wards, and making off with you."

Draco was dimly aware of Granger pacing the cellar behind him, muttering under her breath and waving her wand.

"I don't care," said Harry, brandishing the wand Draco had given him. "I've got a wand. I can fight. So I'm staying."

"No," said Hermione, stamping her foot. "The wards are down. We're leaving, NOW!"

"I'm not leaving him," Harry protested. "I need to be with him."

"You'll see him in a minute," she said. She grabbed his arm, turned on the spot, and they were gone.

Draco stared at the spot they'd just vacated. Granger had done the right thing in sticking to the plan. Now he needed to follow through and get out safely as well.

The Weaslette was history. Harry's kiss communicated volumes. Even if he didn't know yet that his kidnapping was her fault, he obviously felt a passion for Draco that he couldn't deny. Harry had said it himself: he needed to be with Draco.

The need was mutual. Draco would retrieve Harry's wand, and have Harry back in his arms as soon as Wizardly possible. He checked his watch. Time was getting short. He weighed his options: finesse, or force? Finesse took time, a luxury Draco didn't have in great supply. So: force it was, then.

He crept up the stairs and sat for a moment on the top step. He could hear the kidnappers – all four of them – sitting in the kitchen, discussing which wizards they should try to get released next. Good. That made everything so much easier.

He stood, straightened his robes, and tossed his long hair over his shoulders before opening the door with his left hand. His right was closed over his wand, in the pocket of his robes.

"Malfoy," said Jugson. "I didn't hear you coming up the stairs."

"Is Dawlish still out?" asked Edwards.

"Yes," said Draco. "And the wait began to bore me. I have whiled away too many hours in a prison cell to spend another unnecessary moment in that dank pit of a cellar."

"We were just talking about Azkaban," said Nott. "Who do you think we should ask the Ministry to release next?"

"Expelliarmus," Draco drawled, pointing his wand at the lot of them. All four wands flew into the air, and Draco caught them handily. "Incarcerous," he said, and thick ropes flew from his wand to bind the kidnappers to their chairs, and to each other. "I believe the next wizards you'll want released from Azkaban will be yourselves."

He turned toward the hallway, down which the bedrooms lay. "Accio Harry's wand," he said. In a moment, he added Harry's wand to the growing collection in his pocket.

"Malfoy," said Nott, "what the fuck are you doing?"

"Leaving," he said. "I would thank you for your hospitality, but I shan't waste good sarcasm on minds too weak to appreciate it." And he Disapparated with a pop.

Shacklebolt had arranged for them to Apparate directly into the small room next to his office, so that Draco would not have to walk through the Ministry Atrium looking like an escaped convict. He opened the door to the Minster's office, to find a mob of ginger-haired Weasleys of various heights clustered tightly around Harry and Granger, still disguised as John Dawlish.

Andromeda spotted him first, and ran to him. "Oh, thank Merlin, you've made it," she cried.

In her arms, Teddy's hair went bubblegum pink. "Koko back!" he cried happily, and held out his arms.

Draco took the boy and kissed the top of his head. "I'm back, Teddy," he said. "Told you I'd come back."

Several heads turned his direction. The one with messy black hair and warm green eyes was the only one that mattered. But first, Draco needed to report to Shacklebolt.

"Minister," he said, "the kidnappers are bound and disarmed, waiting for Aurors to come collect them." He handed the four wands over.

"Well done, Malfoy," said Shacklebolt. "Well done." He clapped Draco on the back.

"And Harry," Draco said, "I have something for you, too." He extended Harry's wand.

Harry fought his way through the crowd, his eyes shining. He didn't grab the wand. He grabbed Draco. He tipped his head and stretched up to give Draco a kiss.

"NO," screamed the Weaslette. "No, it can't be!"

"Yes, dear," said Andromeda, "it can." She stepped forward and took Teddy again, freeing Draco to wrap his arms around Harry. "It can, and it should," she said.

"Well, this is an interesting twist to the case," said Shacklebolt from somewhere behind them. Draco heard a barely suppressed chuckle in the Minister's deep, resonant voice.

Draco bent his head and pulled Harry closer, deepening the kiss. Harry moaned softly into Draco's mouth, and found Draco's tongue with his own.

"Merlin's Pants – they really ARE friends," said George. "With benefits, even!"

Draco was dimly aware of someone tugging on him, trying to separate them. "Harry," the Weasel was yelling, "stop it, stop it! He's obviously Confunded you… or Imperiused you."

Harry kept kissing him. It was glorious.

"Come on, Ronald," said Granger. "You know Harry can throw off the Imperius curse better than anyone."

Suddenly Draco felt himself changing – the Polyjuice was wearing off. He continued to kiss Harry throughout the transition.

Harry broke away only long enough to say, "Aahhhhh, that's much better."

"But," said the Weasel. "But… but…"

"Butt out, Ronald," said Granger, and if Draco hadn't been so busy kissing Harry he'd have tried to give her house points. "Can't you see this is what Harry wants?"

Finally, Harry released him and stepped back. His face was gorgeously flushed and his hair even more mussed than usual. He took Draco by the hand, and turned around to face the stunned assemblage of Weasleys. Granger stood on Harry's other side, looking once more like a girl in oversized wizards' clothing.

"Er," he began eloquently. "I never found a way to tell you guys, but… Draco and I… er…"

"No," the Weaslette protested. "You've been with me this whole time! Have you been making out with Malfoy behind my back?"

"No, Ginny," he said. "Draco and I got together while you were in school, and then we had a misunderstanding that kept us apart for over a year. We've sorted it out now… er, obviously, I guess, and… and as of today, we're back together."

"How did you keep this from me?" asked the Weasel. "I wasn't in school."

"That's true," said Harry. "You and George were awfully busy with the shop, though. I spent essentially all of my time with Draco for about two and a half months, and you didn't notice." He gave Draco's hand a squeeze. "That made it easier for me, to tell you the truth. I didn't think you'd be terribly understanding of me seeing someone that wasn't your sister. Especially someone you've considered an enemy for so long. I wanted to tell you all. I just couldn't figure out how."

Draco stepped behind Harry and wrapped his arms around him. "I guess the kneazle is out of the bag now," he said.

"I guess so," said Harry, leaning back into Draco's chest.

"I don't understand," said the Weaslette. She clutched at her mother for support. "What could he possibly give you that I don't?"

"Hm, let's see," Draco muttered under his breath. "Unconditional acceptance, safety, privacy… and mind-blowing sex?"

Granger, to Draco's right, and Andromeda, still holding Teddy and standing on Draco's left, both giggled.

Harry pulled Draco's arms tighter around him, and laughed.

"What?" The Weaslette looked from Harry back to Granger. "What did he say?"

Harry shook his head. "I'm sorry, Ginny." He stepped out of Draco's arms and turned to face him again. "Draco just really… gets me, and he lets me be myself." His deep green eyes held Draco's gray ones. "And… I love him."

"I thought you hated him," said the Weasel, clearly still struggling to wrap his small mind around the situation.

Granger sighed. "Keep up, Ronald!"

Draco just smiled and leaned in to kiss Harry again. "I love you, too," he whispered as their lips met.

* * *

_A/N: Will Ginny put bulbadox powder in all of Harry's boxer shorts? Will Pansy Parkinson help Draco and Harry pick out their china pattern? Will Neville Longbottom be the next contestant on Dancing with the Stars? The answers to these and many more questions on the next episode of Soap! I mean, SoC!_


	10. Chapter 10: Renewal

Standard Disclaimer: We do not own Potter or Draco, which – in our opinions – is a damned shame. We're not making any money from writing this story (another shame). Everything you recognize belongs to J.K. Rowling. The dirty parts belong to us!

_A/N: Many thanks to **Albe-Chan** for tossing aside Stephenie Meyer for us, her true favorite authors, and for helping get IJDTW out of her writer's block. Special thanks also to **Clover-night**_ for her ideas on a particular plot point.

_A/N2: IJDTW and Felena1971 offer their congratulations to the Iowa Supreme Court, and wish the best of luck to the Governor of New York._

_A/N3: This was going to be the last chapter of the actual story, but it was turning out to be RIDICULOUSLY long. So we're splitting it into two chapters. This means 12 chapters total, including the crack!fic ending chapter._

**

* * *

Chapter Ten: **

Shacklebolt soon asked all the guests to leave so he could debrief Draco, Harry, and Granger after their mission. Draco gave him the names of all of the kidnappers, though he didn't know Edwards's full name.

"We know of him," said Dawlish. "Rasselas Edwards – we've never been able to pin anything on him, but he's been running with a rough crowd for years."

"And we've been trying to track down Nott and Jugson since the end of the war," said Proudfoot. "They must be using Edwards's house as a base of operations. The others' homes have been under surveillance but there's been nothing suspicious enough to warrant a search."

"With the testimony from these three as well as any evidence you can gather at the site, we should be able to lock all four of them up for a good long while," Shacklebolt told the Aurors. "Good work, all of you."

"Make sure you don't touch the shirt under the cellar stairs," Draco told Dawlish and Proudfoot before they left to take the kidnappers into custody. "It's cursed."

As the door closed behind them, Shacklebolt turned his attention to Granger. "Hermione," he said, "though you're doing great work with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, you might consider joining the Auror training program. You have a lot of potential. We could use you on the force."

She beamed, eating up the praise as if it were Honeydukes' finest chocolates. "For now," she said, "I want to keep working on behalf of house-elves."

It took every ounce of restraint for Draco not to roll his eyes.

"Maybe the Department of Magical Law Enforcement would be more of an enticement for you," said the Minister. "We have a task force working to change some of the pro-pureblood laws on the books."

Her eyes sparkled, and she all but bounced in her seat. "Kingsley, that is something I will definitely consider," she said. "Thank you."

"And as for you, Mr. Malfoy," said Shacklebolt, turning to Draco. "I would like you to consider Auror training as well. You showed a lot of initiative on this mission, and your rescue plan was effective. You have a knack for this kind of work."

Harry gazed at Draco, his handsome features alight with a mixture of pride and admiration. The expression on Harry's face was, by far, the strongest argument in favor of starting Auror training. Draco considered the offer for a moment, and then dismissed it.

"Sorry, Minister," he said. "As you know, I was… singularly… motivated by this case. I doubt I would be so inspired in the future."

"I understand," said Shacklebolt, his gaze flicking from Draco to Harry and back. "Of course, if you change your mind, just let me know."

Draco shrugged. While he loved the adoration in Harry's eyes, he had no desire to play the hero on a regular basis. "I'll keep that in mind," he said.

Harry laid a hand on Draco's arm, and the warmth of his touch comforted him. "Still planning to be a man of leisure for as long as possible?"

"Maybe," said Draco. "I'm considering my options."

Harry's eyes widened in surprise.

"We'll talk about it later," said Draco, and Harry nodded his agreement.

By the time the trio had finished giving Shacklebolt every detail they could remember about the mission, they were all utterly exhausted. Neither Draco nor Granger had gotten much sleep the night before, and Harry had spent too many hours in one position, lying on the cold, damp cellar floor.

As soon as they were able, Draco and Harry Flooed to Grimmauld Place. They stepped out of the fireplace and dusted themselves off.

"You need a bath," said Draco. "Come on. It's my turn to wash your back."

Harry's face lit up. "Gods, that sounds brilliant," he said.

They climbed the stairs to the bathroom. Draco ran the water, making sure it was nice and hot, just the way Harry liked it.

Harry sat on the edge of the tub and removed his shoes and socks. He couldn't take his eyes off Draco.

"You're staring," said the blond. "Not that I'm complaining."

"Sorry," said Harry, not sounding sorry at all. "I'm afraid if I look away you won't be here when I look back."

Draco took Harry's hands and pulled him to his feet. He kissed Harry again, deeply. "You won't get rid of me that easily," he murmured into Harry's neck.

"Undress me," said Harry. "I love the way you undress me – like you're unwrapping a gift."

Draco obliged. He very carefully unbuttoned Harry's shirt, and kissed all the bruises he found.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Some of those are from me, I'm sure. They'd levitated you outside, and then I had to bring you back in, and I bumped you on the walls, and-"

"It's okay," said Harry. "They'll heal. They don't hurt at all."

"No?"

"No," said Harry. "I feel… I feel great. I feel better than I've felt in a very long time."

He wound his fingers into Draco's hair as Draco knelt in front of him and unbuttoned his trousers. The fabric slid down Harry's legs, and he stepped out, leaving them pooled on the bathroom tile.

Draco looked up at him and arched an eyebrow. The Gryffindor was rock hard inside his pants. Unwrapping a gift, indeed.

"Better than Christmas and birthday combined," he said, eliciting a groan of anticipation from Harry.

Tucking his fingers under the waistband, Draco carefully lifted it up and over Harry's erection, nudging the pants lower, exposing him slowly. His mouth watered. He kissed the softness just inside Harry's hipbone. Harry's breath hitched and his fingers tightened their grip in Draco's hair.

Draco pulled Harry's pants to the floor and Harry stepped out of those, too, now standing completely nude before Draco. Harry shivered, despite the steam that had filled the bathroom, fogging the mirror. Draco wrapped his arms around Harry's waist, and pressed his cheek to Harry's belly. He knelt there, eyes closed, just holding Harry tight and inhaling his scent while Harry stroked his hair, until he was brought back to his senses by the sound of the taps automatically shutting off – the tub was full.

Draco chuckled as he rose. "I lost track of time," he said.

"Me, too," said Harry. He went to work on Draco's buttons. "Let's get you out of those things, and, er…" He swallowed hard. "And into the bath."

Soon Draco was naked, too. It took all of Draco's restraint not to lay Harry down on the tile and shag him rotten right there. Harry looked… well, more than willing.

Draco smirked at the hungry look in Harry's eyes, and pointed him into the water. "First we get clean," he said. They sank into the hot water up to their necks, displacing so much water when they climbed in that they swamped the bathroom.

"You used to do this for me every week," said Draco, "after I came back from St. Mungo's." He soaked the washcloth in the sudsy water and squeezed it out over Harry's shoulder blades, watching the rivulets drain down the hollow of his backbone.

Harry turned to watch Draco over his shoulder. "You're calling it by name now, instead of 'that hellhole' or 'that smelly pit.'"

Draco smiled. "I got used to the smell, I guess." He swabbed the broad muscles of Harry's back, tracing over the familiar scars Harry had collected over the years of fighting dragons and Dark Lords.

Harry turned around completely so Draco could wash his chest. "I'm sorry," he said. "I wish I could go back in time so I could wash the hospital grime off of you every one of those weeks we were apart."

"You might get a chance to do it again in the future," said Draco, sliding the washcloth over Harry's firm abdomen. The edge of the cloth dragged over the head of Harry's still-erect cock.

The Gryffindor gasped. "Good Godric, Draco," he said. "I can't concentrate on what you're saying when you do that. Did you just say you might go back to St. Mungo's?"

Draco grinned. "I did."

"Do you mean…?"

"Yes," said Draco, repeating the maneuver, because Harry's reaction was so enjoyable. "It took a while, but I actually started to look forward to going. Healer Vargo invited me to join the Healer training program, and I'm thinking about it."

"You're – aaaahhhhh! – kidding," said Harry.

"Ironic, isn't it?" said Draco. He took Harry's chin in his hand, and used a corner of the washcloth to wipe his cheeks and forehead.

"You said… in Kingsley's office, you said you had options: plural. What else are you considering?" Without the washcloth brushing his erection, Harry was better able to speak in complete sentences.

"I thought I might become a curse-breaker. Freelance. Make my own hours. I did enjoy the challenge of working on those things you crammed into your attic."

"It's just the way you left it," said Harry. "No one else has been up there but me, and I haven't touched anything. I just… sat up there sometimes."

Draco lifted Harry's chin and turned his face gently from side to side, inspecting him. Droplets of water clung to his long eyelashes. "Not bad," he said. Then he pressed his lips to Harry's, and pulled him close. "Not bad at all."

"I could bathe you again even if you choose freelance curse-breaking over Healing, you know." Harry chuckled, and shook his head. "It's so good to have you back," he said. "If I'd known all I had to do was get myself kidnapped… I'd have done it a long time ago."

Draco kissed him again. "Prat," he said. "I'd have been back a lot sooner, if I'd known you wanted me. The one time in your life you decide to be subtle about something, it had to be with that note…."

"I thought…" began Harry. He was silent for so long that Draco thought he had forgotten what he was saying. He didn't need to hear the rest, anyway. He knew what Harry had thought when Draco didn't show up on New Years Day. His heart clenched with guilt, even though there was no way he could have known. He kept Harry pulled close with one hand, using the other to stroke the washcloth across Harry's back again. He willed Harry to understand that every caress meant he was sorry.

Harry pulled back so he could meet Draco's eyes, sloshing more water out of the tub in the process. "I waited for you," he said, his voice tight. "I waited at the Leaky until they closed. I thought you didn't want to talk to me. I thought you never wanted to see me again."

"I know," said Draco. He pulled Harry closer again, and kissed the corners of his eyes, tasting the salt of his unshed tears. "I know that now. Granger – er, Hermione – told me, just before we set off on the mission. I'm sorry. I had no way of knowing."

"And you," said Harry, stroking Draco's arm. "You must have thought the same thing – that I didn't want to see you anymore."

"I didn't want to look at the books when Andromeda brought them to me," Draco said. "They just reminded me of what I had lost. I put them away and tried to forget about you." He shook his head. "It doesn't matter now," he said. "I was trying to study everything I could about curses and Dark Magic in case it would help with the mission, and I found the note. Better late than never, right?" His eyes felt wet, but that could have been just from the steam.

"I'm sorry, too," said Harry. "I'm sorry you ever thought that I didn't want to see you. And for taking so long to tell my friends about you. I'm sorry for that, too."

"It's done now," said Draco. "It's all over." The pain and loneliness of the past fifteen months were already a dimming memory. Now that he was here with Harry, everything felt right again.

"And you're here," said Harry, echoing Draco's thoughts. He took the washcloth from Draco. "You're with me now." He said it firmly, as if that made it more real somehow. He stroked the washcloth over Draco's chest. "You're…." He stopped; bit his lip.

"What?" said Draco.

"Nothing," said Harry. He dunked the washcloth into the warm water, and washed Draco's arms, first the left, then the right.

You're….what? What the hell was Harry afraid to tell him?

"No," Draco said finally. "No holding back anymore. We spent the last fifteen months not talking to each other. Tell me, Harry. Whatever it is."

Harry looked up from where he'd been stroking the washcloth over Draco's shoulder. He stopped, biting his lip again. Then he took a deep breath and released it. He nodded. "You're right," he said. "I just… Don't get angry, okay? Or… get angry – just don't leave. Stay and fight with me and then we can make up."

Draco pulled Harry close. Slosh, went the water. "I'm not going anywhere. If you meant what you said at the Ministry today… then I'm not leaving, no matter what."

"I meant it, Draco," Harry said. "I didn't know it before, but I know it now: I- I love you. I need you here with me."

Whatever Harry had to say couldn't take away from the warmth of hearing Harry say those words, after so long, after so many doubts. "It took me awhile, too," he said. "I tried to be happy without you. It didn't work." Pieter had, unwittingly, shown him the truth: the hole in his life – in his heart – was the exact size and shape of Harry Potter. "Eventually I realized I needed to be with you. It took being without you to figure out that I loved you." He kissed Harry again, a long, slow kiss.

Harry melted into Draco's arms. When Draco broke the kiss, Harry laid his head on Draco's chest and closed his eyes. He sighed contentedly.

"What were you saying before, Harry?" asked Draco quietly. "You said 'you're' and then you stopped. I'm what?"

Harry buried his face in the crook of Draco's shoulder. "I was going to say… I started to say that… that you're mine." He froze, waiting for Draco's reaction. After several seconds, he pulled away and opened his eyes again, scanning Draco's face. "I know you always hated feeling owned. I don't mean it that way. I just mean… well, maybe I mean that I'm yours. I don't want us to be apart anymore."

Harry was so fucking adorable sometimes, it took Draco's breath away.

"You can say it," Draco said. "For some reason it doesn't bother me at all anymore. In fact… I kind of like it." He laughed. "I'm yours. It sounds… it sounds good."

Suddenly, Harry jerked away. "Oh my Godric," he gasped.

"What?" asked Draco, startled by the sudden loss of body contact. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," said Harry. "I- I just realized. The life-debt. You hated the life-debt. It must be gone now – you saved me. Draco, you're free. We're free of it!"

Draco's mind raced. Was it gone? Had the life-debt been repaid? "I don't know," he said slowly. "Shacklebolt was pretty sure they wouldn't have killed you. You were too valuable to them as a hostage."

"But you came for me," said Harry. "You rescued me. You…" Harry stopped again, his eyes wide with some sudden realization.

Not again! "I what?" What was Harry afraid to say now?

Oh… fuck. Not that.

"No," said Draco. "You… you can't believe that I came to your rescue only because of the life-debt. I'd forgotten all about the fucking life-debt until you brought it up again. I just knew you were in trouble. You could have been hurt, or killed, no matter what Shacklebolt said. It was not a calculated decision… it was a gut reaction: I just went straight to the Ministry and said it had to be me. I needed to make sure you were safe."

Harry launched himself back at Draco, creating a wave that splashed loudly on the wet tile floor. "No, no," he cried. "I didn't think that – I swear! I just realized… when you signed on for the mission, you hadn't seen my note yet. You still thought…" He choked back a sob. "You still thought I didn't want to see you. And you came for me anyway." He clung to Draco's neck, his body shaking.

"Of course I came for you," said Draco, stroking Harry's back. "How could I not? It didn't matter that you weren't mine." And then Draco had found the note, and his world blew apart. "When I did see your note," he continued, though he found it much harder to speak, "I couldn't believe what I was reading. I didn't know if you would still want me after so much time. And if you did… I knew I'd never be able to leave you again."

Harry peeled himself off of Draco's shoulder and wiped his eyes. He put his hands on Draco's jaw and snuggled in as close as possible for a kiss. His lips were warm and soft and tasted like salt. Draco wrapped his arms around Harry, not wanting ever to let go, and kissed him back tenderly, deeply, possessively. He was Harry's, and Harry was his. They belonged to each other.

They kissed until the water cooled enough to become uncomfortable. Harry shivered again, and Draco rubbed his hands over Harry's arms to warm him.

"Come on," Draco said. "Let's go to bed."

Harry laughed. "It's probably only just dinnertime."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "So?"

"Nothing," said Harry. "Take me to bed."

He did.

Under the warmth of the Gryffindor red bedclothes, Draco held Harry again. They stroked each other's backs, arms, chests, their hands hungry for each other.

Harry slid his hands down Draco's chest, brushing each nipple, circling his navel, and tracing the line of short hair until he reached the base of Draco's cock. He grasped Draco's hardness and they both groaned with need.

"Draco," whispered Harry. His voice was husky and deep.

"Harry," said Draco, his hands sliding down Harry's back to his firm arse. "Yes," he said. "Fuck, yes."

Harry kissed him again. "Draco, I want you."

"I'm yours," he said. "All yours."

Harry squeezed Draco's cock and stroked upward, and Draco shuddered. "I want you," Harry repeated. "I want you inside me." He stroked again.

Sweet fucking Mother of Merlin. Draco nearly came right then.

"Shit, Harry," he said. "If you keep that up, I won't have anything left for you." He rolled them, so Harry was underneath. He stroked Harry's face, and slipped two fingers into Harry's mouth. Harry licked them and sucked them and it felt so fucking good. He pulled them out, replacing them with his tongue, and pressed his digits to Harry's entrance.

Harry whimpered. "Yes, Draco," he said, breaking the kiss. "Gods yes. I want you so bad." He thrust his hips, wanting more of Draco's fingers.

Draco slipped one finger into Harry's passage and groaned at the impossible tightness. He felt his cock leaking in anticipation. Harry was so tight… it had been so long… Draco needed to make sure Harry was adequately prepared – he didn't want to hurt him.

"Relax," he whispered into Harry's ear. "I'll get there, I promise. Take it easy."

He withdrew the finger and nodded to the bedside table. Harry reached in the drawer and grabbed the tube of lube. Draco applied it liberally to his hand and then replaced his finger, moving it slowly in and out. Harry clutched his back, barely breathing. Draco pulled back to sit on his knees between Harry's thighs, still moving his hand slowly.

Harry pleaded with his eyes. "More," they said. "Please, more."

Draco wrapped his other hand around Harry's cock and the brunet gasped. He felt Harry tighten around his finger. "Breathe," said Draco. He bent his head, licking the bead of pre-come from Harry's cock and then taking the head slowly into his mouth. When he slid his mouth down to take as much of Harry's thick cock as he could, Harry exhaled with a whoosh. Draco added the second finger, still pulsing slowly in and out as he sucked leisurely. Harry mumbled incoherently, his hands knotted in Draco's hair, his eyes closed.

Harry's vocalizations increased in volume and Draco knew he was close. He sat up again, stroking Harry's cock firmly with one hand while still stroking in and out of Harry's passage with two fingers of his other hand.

"Are you ready for me, Harry?"

"Fuck, yes," Harry breathed. "Please, Draco. I need you. Make love to me."

Draco paused to apply the lube to his own cock, and used his fingers to spread some more of the slippery stuff into Harry's passage.

"Now, Draco," said Harry, "I'm ready – Gods, I'm so ready."

Draco placed the tip of his cock at Harry's entrance and applied the slightest pressure. Harry thrust his hips, trying to impale himself on Draco's length. They both cried out in ecstasy as the head of Draco's cock disappeared into Harry's arse.

"Ah, you feel incredible," said Draco. He pushed in farther. Stars danced before his eyes. It was unbelievable. He tried to take it slowly, but Harry wanted more, and wanted it now.

With two more thrusts, Draco was completely sheathed in his lover. He paused, adjusting to the tightness and letting Harry adjust to his girth. They both panted.

"More," Harry gasped, wrapping his legs around Draco. "More, Draco."

"There isn't any more," he said with a chuckle. He loved that the Gryffindor wanted him so badly.

"I mean movement," said Harry. "Give it to me, Draco… Move inside me. Come inside me. Fill me up."

Oh yes. "Keep talking," Draco ground out. "That's so fucking hot."

"Fuck me, Draco," said Harry. "I want it, I want it all."

Draco began to move. Slowly, at first… but, egged on by Harry's words, he soon found himself pounding into Harry hard and fast. Harry's words became less and less intelligible, and Draco, supporting himself on one hand, wrapped his other around Harry's cock and started stroking again. Within seconds, Harry arched his back and shot his seed into the space between them. Draco slowed down and rode through Harry's orgasm.

When Harry recovered enough to speak, he fixed his emerald gaze on Draco's face. "Come for me, Draco," he said.

And Draco did. He held Harry's eyes the whole time, loving the wonder and joy he saw there as he spilled himself deep into Harry. And then he collapsed onto Harry's chest, utterly spent, gasping for air.

"I'll- I'll always… always come for you," Draco panted.

"I love you," Harry said, stroking Draco's hair while both their heartbeats slowly returned to normal.

"I love you, too," said Draco.

* * *

_A/N: Will Harry and Draco adopt Teddy and make their own version of "My Two Dads"? Will Millicent Bulstrode finally give in and go out with Justin Finch-Fletchley"? Will Seamus Finnigan find appreciation for his one-"man" drag show outside the Gryffindor common room? The answers to these and many more questions on the next episode of Soap! I mean, SoC!_


	11. Chapter 11: Growth

Standard Disclaimer: We do not own Harry or Draco, which – in our opinions – is a damned shame. We're not making any money from writing this story (another shame). Everything you recognize belongs to J.K. Rowling. The dirty parts belong to us!

_A/N: Thanks to **Albe-Chan** again, for helping get IJDTW out of a rut._

_A/N 2: So sorry this update was so long in coming. We've had a hell of a time trying to coordinate our schedules to get it beta'ed_.

**

* * *

Chapter Eleven: Growth**

They woke in the small hours of the morning, limbs tangled, bodies sticky, and both of them absolutely starving. They cleaned up quickly, using their wands, and Harry produced the silk robes he had conjured for them on their first night together.

"You kept this," said Draco, pulling on the forest green one. "Why?"

"It wasn't mine to get rid of," said Harry. "Besides, I'm rather fond of it and I kept hoping.... that I'd get to see you wearing it again."

"It's not as if you couldn't conjure me a new one," said Draco, though he was enormously pleased to think that Harry had kept a souvenir of that night.

They padded down to the kitchen together, where Kreacher made them a feast. They sat beside each other at the well-worn kitchen table together and ate their fill.

"You know it's going to be in the Daily Prophet," said Draco. "Us, together, at the Ministry."

"Yeah," said Harry. "I know. Now that I've told my friends about us, I don't care who knows." He took another bite of his poached egg, and chewed thoughtfully. "Is there anyone you need to tell?" he asked. "It's a bit early in the day to tell people in person, though we could still send messages with Baldur that would get to them before the Daily Prophet is delivered."

"No," Draco said with a dark smile. "Father will go ballistic, of course, when the guards show him the article. There's nothing for it." He stirred his coffee quietly for a moment. "Mother, on the other hand, will be thrilled."

"She will?"

"Trust me."

"What about Goyle? Parkinson?"

"To hell with them," said Draco. "Let 'em read it in the paper."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Okay," he said. "Whatever you say."

"Well, you know Slytherins," said Draco. "They'll probably just assume I'm using you for some nefarious purpose… or sex."

Harry laughed. "Actually, I know a few Gryffindors who will probably make the same assumption."

Draco frowned as he speared a piece of sausage with his fork. "Lovely," he said. "It's comforting to know that your friends dislike me as much as I dislike them."

"I expect your friends will welcome me with open arms, too," said Harry sarcastically, gesturing widely with the jam knife. "Maybe the best we can hope for is mere awkwardness with each other's friends, instead of outright hostility."

"Fortunately, I don't have many friends," said Draco. "And honestly, I'm not all that nice to them, either. If you insult Parkinson, I'll probably just laugh."

"My friends are important to me," said Harry. "They believed in me when no one else would. Even if you don't like them… could you at least try to be polite to them?"

"Malfoys are blessed with impeccable manners," said Draco. "Though it will be an enormous strain to use them with any member of the Weasley family."

"You'll manage, I'm sure," Harry said as he leaned over and kissed him. Then suddenly, he burst out laughing.

"Yes, and your laughing about it will make it so much easier," drawled Draco, rolling his eyes.

"I'm sorry," said Harry. "I just can't believe Kingsley teamed you up with Hermione. You must have loved that. I'm amazed you two didn't kill each other."

"Actually," said Draco, mildly offended by Harry's amusement, "Shacklebolt said we made a good team. And for your information, he didn't team me with her. I asked for her specifically."

Harry's mouth hung open comically. "You did what?" he said.

"She was my best option for getting you out of there safely," said Draco. "I wanted someone who knows how you think in a battle. You two have been through so much together that I imagine you instinctively know what each other will do in any situation. I wanted that on our side, instead of some Ministry arse who doesn't know any other way to do things aside from by the book."

"You do get me," Harry said. "That's exactly how it is with me and Hermione." He scraped back his chair and stood, only to sit again – across Draco's lap, straddling him, his arms around Draco's neck. "So, how was it? Working with her?"

"Successful," Draco said. "And that's all that matters." In truth, it hadn't been awful, except for that long moment where she hugged him outside Shacklebolt's office. Gods, how his standards had fallen… In love with a half-blood, and voluntarily spending time with Mud-… Muggleborns.

"She's damned good, isn't she?" said Harry, an I-told-you-so expression plastered across his smug face.

Draco had to agree, but he didn't have to admit it to Harry. "Please," he said. "I've spent untold hours with Granger in the past two days. And I didn't insult her once. Isn't that enough?"

Harry laughed, his green eyes sparkling and his smile easy and genuine. "It's fantastic," he said. He pressed Draco back into the chair and wound his fingers into his fine blond locks, his lips insistent upon Draco's lips. The chair creaked in protest.

"Careful," said Draco, breaking the kiss. "How much abuse can these old chairs take?"

"Let's find out," said Harry.

"Always the daring Gryffindor," Draco said. "Just chasing thrills, no regard whatsoever for safety."

"Mm hmm," said Harry against Draco's lips.

It turned out the chair could take quite a bit.

As Draco had predicted, when the Daily Prophet arrived two hours later, it carried a titillating headline: _"Potter Kidnapped! Rescued by Enemy-Turned-Lover!"_ Harry tossed it aside immediately, pulling out the sports section and settling down to enjoy it over a second cup of coffee.

Draco, not as immune to the press as Harry had become, read every word. _"If Potter's weapon is love,"_ said the article, _"he has used it to conquer the heart of his former Hogwarts house rival, Draco Malfoy. The handsome pair were spotted leaving Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt's office hand in hand yesterday after a daring rescue that pitted Malfoy and war hero Hermione Granger against a group calling themselves the Protectors of the Magic Blood."_

Draco looked up from the article. "It's a favorable article," he said. "I thought we'd be crucified, but the Prophet seems supportive. They even called us handsome."

"Get used to it," said Harry. "You've always been handsome, and now that you're a hero besides, they'll be fawning all over you. It's part of the package. It's funny - no one thought I was good-looking at all until I defeated Voldemort. Then suddenly – I'm the World's Sexiest Wizard."

Draco remembered that issue of Witch Weekly. It was early May, shortly after the fall of the Dark Lord, and Draco had just started having the dreams of flying naked on a broomstick with Harry. His mother's issue had wound up shoved under Draco's mattress. Harry would never, ever find out about that.

"Oh, one or two people found you attractive before then," said Draco.

Harry shook his head. "Doesn't matter. I have a feeling I've just lost the title. People are going to love the fact that you rescued me. They'll think it's… romantic." He blushed, and looked back down at the sports page.

Draco arched an eyebrow. "Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Think it's romantic?"

Harry looked up at Draco. "I think it's the hottest damned thing on the planet."

"Then what are you doing reading about Quidditch instead of trying to lure me back to your bed?"

Harry laughed. "As if it would take much to lure you back to our bed."

OUR bed? Seriously? Did Harry want him to move in? Draco fought for a snarky reply, and came up empty. He merely stared at Harry, open-mouthed.

Harry's face flushed, highlighting his cheekbones. "You practically lived here before," he said, rushing in to fill Draco's silence. "Wh- what would you say if I wanted you to make the move official?"

Draco worked hard to hide the smug grin that threatened to overtake his face. He had been reunited with Harry for only one day, and had already gotten the invitation the Weaslette had craved, month after month, for most of a year.

He eyed Harry appraisingly, as if trying to make up his mind.

"Fine," he said, when Harry's smile showed signs of faltering. "So what are you doing reading about Quidditch instead of trying to lure me back to OUR bed?"

"Hmmm," said Harry. "How best to lure you…" He waggled his eyebrows. "If only there were a snake handy for me to talk to, I might be able to manage it."

Draco groaned as blood rushed from his head to his cock. "Serpensortia is out of the question: I left my wand upstairs." He glanced into his lap and back to Harry. "I'm afraid I've only got one snake to show you. It'll have to do."

"Oh yeah," said Harry, licking his lips. "That snake is perfect." He tossed the sports page over his shoulder and patted the table in front of him. "Come here."

"You've got a thing for the kitchen, don't you?" said Draco, simultaneously amused and aroused. He sat on the table facing Harry. He was already rock hard and all Harry had done was speak to him suggestively.

Harry parted the silken fabric, petted Draco's snake, and began to speak in sibilant tones.

"Son of a banshee, that's hot," murmured Draco. Then he stopped talking to make sure he didn't distract Harry from what he was doing. The Parselmouth certainly had a talented tongue.

Some time later, when Draco was next able to speak coherently, he thought to ask Harry what he'd said in Parseltongue. Harry was leading him up the stairs to their bedroom (Draco having been sufficiently lured), and stopped on the first floor landing to answer.

"I said, 'Welcome home, sssssexy sssssnake. You're going to be here with me from now on – right where you belong.'"

Draco laughed. "Andromeda's going to have kittens," he said. "Did you know she'd threatened to lock us both into a room until we worked things out?"

"Not a bad idea," said Harry, resuming the climb. "Just seeing you again probably would have done it. Once I laid eyes on you, I know I wouldn't have wanted to let you go again."

Just seeing each other again might have done it… Holy fuck – the match.

Harry turned back. "You coming? What… what's wrong?"

Draco shook his head. "Nothing's wrong. I just… It's strange," he said. "If just seeing me again was all it took, we probably would have been back together again in a few days even if you hadn't been kidnapped."

"What do you mean? How?"

"A few weeks ago – Valentine's Day, actually – I decided I had to see you, whether you wanted to see me or not."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Valentine's Day?"

"Valentine's Day," he said, and silently thanked Pieter for the impetus his invitation had provided. One of these days, he promised himself, he would tell Harry about Pieter. It was the right thing to do. But not today: not when everything was so fresh and raw. He shook his head again to bring himself back to the present, and climbed up to join Harry at the next landing.

"I bought tickets to the Magpies-Harpies game for Dromeda, Teddy, and me," he said. "I hoped you wouldn't be off on an assignment. If I was with Teddy and Dromeda, you'd have to speak to me."

"What a very… Slytherin plan," said Harry, with a chuckle. "Although I agree it is high time Teddy got to a game. He turns two next month, after all. I don't want him going off to Hogwarts as ignorant as I was when I got there."

Draco breathed a sigh of relief. Harry was amused, rather than offended by the confession. "That's exactly what I told Dromeda," he said. "It's a good thing he has us in his life to give him this kind of training."

Harry kissed him. "You're right," he said. "A boy needs a father figure, and with us, Teddy gets two for the price of one. When is that match?"

"Saturday."

"THIS Saturday? What is today?"

"It's Wednesday," Draco said, laughing. "You were kidnapped Monday on your way to lunch, remember? And we got you back on Tuesday. Today is Wednesday."

"Hell," said Harry, and he turned and climbed the rest of the stairs to the bedroom.

Draco hurried to keep up. "What's wrong?"

"I… can't go to that game with you," Harry said. "I want to go. It would be fun, and it's bound to be a great game. I just can't."

"Why the hell not?" Draco followed him into the bedroom, slammed the door shut behind them, and stood against the door, arms crossed. "You saw the Daily Prophet – the news is out already. What's stopping you this time?"

"Ginny," Harry said. He slumped on the bed, looking forlorn. "I can't do that to her. Not yet."

"For fuck's sake, Harry," said Draco. He sat next to Harry. "She's not your girlfriend anymore. And after our performance yesterday, I don't think you need to worry about hurting her feelings. They're as hurt as they're going to get."

"I know," said Harry. "I just don't think it would be fair for us to be there together while she's trying to concentrate on the match. It would be like going to her office and making out on her desk while she tried to work. She's got a whole team counting on her, and we would be a terrible distraction."

"I don't mind distracting her from the game," growled Draco. "She deserves it. Why do you have to be so fucking noble all the time?" He jumped up, the stress too much for him to sit still. "Do you know it was because she prattled on so much about you that the kidnappers decided to abduct you? Her teammate, that cow Galatea Jugson, knew exactly where you would be, so they just snatched you up without any trouble. All because the Weaslette couldn't shut up about how she was with the famous and wonderful Harry Potter."

Harry paled. "I know. Galatea told me when they got me over to that house and took my picture for the ransom note."

"And doesn't that make you angry?" Draco ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. "Why are you still protecting her, when she put you in danger like that?"

"She didn't mean to," said Harry. "It was a mistake. I've made mistakes, too, Draco. You've made mistakes. I'm not going to punish her for it."

"Saint Potter," Draco grumbled, though he couldn't argue with Harry's logic. "I'm moving in with Saint Potter."

"I'm not such a saint," Harry said, laughing. "I'll be happy to remind you of just how sinful I can be."

Draco rolled his eyes. The effect was ruined by his inability to suppress his grin. He flopped down on the bed beside Harry again.

"Well, I don't want to go to the game without you. And I don't want to give them to Teddy and Dromeda to go without me. I want to be there for his first Quidditch match, don't you?"

"I'll get us tickets to the Magpies' next game instead," said Harry. "All four of us. Who're they playing after the Harpies?"

"Cannons," said Draco. "Saturday after next."

"Chudley Cannons? Then Ron will most likely be there. That'll be fun, won't it?"

"You're just saying that to make me feel better," said Draco, pouting.

"Is it working?" Harry rolled to face Draco, and put an arm around his waist.

"A bit." It would be fun to kiss Harry at the match and watch the Weasel turn seven shades of red. And while the match wouldn't be as exciting, playing the bottom-of-the-league Cannons would ensure that Teddy's first match was a victory. "What shall I do with those three tickets, then? Donate them to orphans? Would that make Saint Potter happy?"

"Actually…" Harry suddenly grinned. "I've got an idea. Can I give one of them away for you?"

Draco sighed dramatically. "I suppose. What is your brilliant plan, O Noble One?"

"I'm feeling very generous," said Harry. "I think we ought to set Ginny up with someone who deserves her."

Draco stared. "Who do you dislike that much?"

"Come on, Draco," he said. "She's not all bad. She was a good friend to me for years, and fought in more than one battle alongside me. We just… shouldn't date. I say we send a ticket to Viktor Krum."

"Krum? And the Weaslette?" Draco's mind reeled. "Harry, you must still be in shock from the kidnapping. You're… you're not quite right."

"At Bill Weasley's wedding," said Harry, "Krum thought she was good-looking. I said she was with someone. I should have let him have her. Don't you think they'd make a good couple?"

"So your girlfriend nearly gets you killed, and you pay her back by setting her up with an international Quidditch star?"

"I guess so," said Harry. "I mean, they both love playing Quidditch, and they're both far too impressed with celebrity. They can go out to all the high profile social events, and they'll both have fun. Do you remember at the Yule Ball how Krum danced all night with Hermione? Ginny would love that."

"I'd rather see you set her up with the Giant Squid," said Draco, "but I'll leave it up to you."

"It's settled, then," said Harry, looking ridiculously pleased with himself. "I'm doing it. Are you sure you don't know anyone who would like those other two tickets?"

Draco thought for a moment. "Give them to Gran- Hermione. Maybe she could take the Weasel with her, since I doubt he has the galleons to take her out anywhere. She did help rescue you, after all. A night out is the least we can do, though her choice of company will probably make the date far less enjoyable."

Harry pinned Draco to the bed and kissed him soundly. "One step at a time," he said, laughing. "I know I shouldn't reward you with a kiss when you make cracks like that about Ron, but you are doing very well with Hermione, and… well, why punish myself?"

"Just don't tell anyone it was my idea," said Draco. "It would ruin my reputation." He edged out from under Harry and stood. "I'd better get going," he said.

"What?" That caught Harry's attention. "Going where?"

"It's Wednesday, Harry, remember? If you want to get the famous – and, I'd wager, rather busy – Krum to the Harpies-Magpies game in three days, you need to owl him today. I need to collect the tickets from Malfoy Manor. I also need to send Baldur to Dromeda to see if she and Teddy can go to the game next weekend, instead of this weekend."

Harry scrambled off the bed, too, his lips still red from snogging the life out of Draco. "I'll come with you to your house to pick up the tickets."

Draco smirked. "Still worried I'll disappear if you let me out of your sight?."

"Actually," Harry said, taking Draco's hand, "I want to be there so we can tell your mother together that you're moving in with me. She'll be happy about it, right? You said she'd be thrilled to see the Daily Prophet article this morning."

For Salazar's sake. He wanted her blessing. How quaint.

"I expect she'll be fine, so long as I see her once a week. That's all she asked before."

"Do you think she would come to our place, sometimes, instead of you going there every week?"

Draco goggled at Harry. "I don't see why not. But why the hell are you so eager to spend time with Mother?" Had growing up without a mother of his own made Harry desperate enough to settle for someone else's mother to fill the void?

"Family is important to me," Harry said wistfully. "I think we should get to know each other better."

Family is important. This, from the boy without any family. He was aware, wasn't he, that in real life, as opposed to the fantasy he'd obviously built, being part of a family meant taking the bad with the good?

"Does that extend to Father, as well?" He arched an eyebrow and waited.

"Er…," said Harry. He clenched and unclenched a fist. "Do you want me to come with you to visit him in Azkaban?"

"That won't be necessary," said Draco. "I don't actually visit him myself. I was just wondering how far you'd go with this 'family is important' thing."

"All the way," Harry said fiercely. "I'll go all the way."

"What the fuck, Harry?" said Draco, moving back to the bed and pulling Harry down next to him. "This isn't just about you getting to know Mother, is it?" He searched Harry's face for clues. "What's going on in that twisted brain of yours?"

Harry took a deep breath, and blew it out noisily. "Remember what I said about us being father figures?"

Both of Draco's eyebrows shot toward the ceiling. Harry wanted to have children? Wizard or not, it wasn't possible for a man to get pregnant. Perhaps Harry had missed the sex-ed lecture Madam Pomfrey had given all the first year boys? No… Draco distinctly remembered seeing Harry turning as red as the Weasel's hair at Pomfrey's explanation of nocturnal emissions, and her demonstration of a proper cleaning charm. Maybe he'd just missed the part about it taking a male and a female to make a baby…

"Would you like it," Harry said, staring into Draco's eyes with liquid intensity, "if Teddy lived here with us?"

Draco felt an odd squeezing sensation in his chest. The question caused a complete shut-down in Draco's brain, and all he could do was act on instinct. Without understanding exactly why, he took Harry's face in his hands and kissed him, hard.

"Shall I take that as a yes?" asked Harry, a goofy grin on his face.

"I don't know," said Draco, still trying to wrap his mind around the proposal. He worried his lower lip with his teeth. "Two days ago, I hadn't seen you in over a year. Today I'm moving in with you and you're talking about raising a child together? I would like having him around more, but… what do we know about parenting?"

Harry blushed, and his smile lost some of its intensity. "You're right," he said. "I'm moving too fast. I just… I love seeing you with him. In Kingsley's office… Gods, when he called you 'Koko' and reached for you..." His eyes misted, behind the famous black glasses frames. "I think you'd be an awesome father, honestly."

"I am pretty good with him," said Draco. "I think you'd be good, though. You take him out, teach him things… Maybe we could make it work…"

And the smile was back, full strength, dazzling Draco with its force.

"What if Dromeda moved in, too?" Draco said, hardly believing he was suggesting such a thing. "We could give them one whole floor to themselves, even."

Harry's eyes shone with excitement. "Do you think she would do that?"

"It's possible," said Draco. "If it meant that Teddy could be closer to both of us, I think she would seriously consider it. It would make things easier for her, too. With both of us around to take care of him, she would be able to take some time for herself now and then."

A shadow of something crossed Harry's face. He opened his mouth to speak, and closed it again. Without a word, he left the bed and started to pace the room.

"What's wrong?" Draco asked. "This was your idea in the first place! Now you're going to back out?"

"It's not that," said Harry, finally coming to a halt in front of Draco. "It's… Draco, I… I was thinking of leaving the Aurors. Would that… would it be okay if I did that?"

Draco was almost dizzy, things were changing so fast. Harry's desire to quit seemed to have come out of nowhere. "Of course it would be okay," he said. "I hardly think you need my permission to ditch your job, you lunatic."

"Really? You wouldn't mind if I wasn't an Auror anymore?"

"Hell, no," Draco said. His muscles felt weak with relief. He would not mind at all if Harry wasn't such a target. "Why would I mind?"

"I don't know," said Harry. He sat again, and dropped his head into his hands. "People seem to expect me to do something heroic."

"People," said Draco, "can go fuck themselves." He dropped to his knees on the floor in front of Harry, and looked up into his face. "Do what you want." He gently pulled Harry's hands back toward his lap, and Harry raised his eyes to meet Draco's gaze.

"I don't think it's a good job for a parent," said Harry. "Sometimes there are overnight assignments. And… the work can be dangerous."

Draco nodded. Teddy had already lost both of his biological parents. He didn't need to lose anyone else. "You don't need to convince me, Harry. I'd be perfectly happy if you had a safer job. Or no job. Don't work if you don't want to: we've been through this."

"No job?" Harry slid off the bed and into Draco's arms, knocking them both over. "I could be a stay-at-home father to Teddy, and you wouldn't think less of me?"

"You're an idiot," said Draco, laughing. "I just told you to do what you want. If raising Teddy full-time is what you want, then do it."

Harry planted a sloppy wet kiss on Draco's lips and then leapt to his feet. "This is brilliant," he said. "Let's get an owl to Dromeda right away – we can have them to dinner this Saturday, instead of going to the match!" He dashed out of the room and Draco heard him hammering down the stairs, presumably toward the library to write out the invitation.

Before he knew what he was doing, Draco had pelted out of the room behind him and yelled down the staircase, "Wait, Harry!"

Harry was already a floor and a half down the stairs. He stopped short, almost toppled headlong down to the next landing, caught himself on the railing, and turned around. "What?"

Better now… Much better to do it now, when it was just the two of them. It had to be done, eventually. And soon, it seemed, things would be much more complicated – Teddy and Dromeda would be involved… No, much better to do it now.

Harry looked up at him from under his fringe. "Draco," he said slowly, "what's wrong?"

"I slept with someone else," Draco blurted. Shit. He hadn't intended to put it so baldly. His heart pounded, waiting, as he braced himself for Harry's anger, or sadness, or...

"Who?"said Harry, his voice curiously flat.

"No one you know," said Draco. "He went to Beauxbatons, graduated the year before the Triwizard Tournament."

Harry paled slightly, and sat on the step. "When did this happen?"

"June," said Draco. "We were together for three days in June."

Harry was silent for… it felt like forever.

Draco moved slowly down the stairs toward him, still unsure what to make of Harry's muted reaction.

When he reached the step just above Harry, he sat, too. Harry was chewing his lower lip.

"I know I don't have any right to ask you this," said Harry, "but… were you in love with him?"

"No – Gods, Harry, no," said Draco. He reached out and brushed Harry's fringe out of his eyes, finding even such small contact comforting. "I…was trying to get you out of my system. He was not, however, an effective antidote. All I could think about was you. I was miserable when I was with him, because he wasn't you. When I realized that, I knew that I loved you, and I left him."

Harry caught Draco's hand, and kissed his palm. "Why are you telling me this, Draco?" he asked. "You… you didn't need to say anything. If it's definitely over, then… it's not really my business, is it?"

Draco slipped down one more step to join Harry. "I thought you needed to know. In case… in case it changes things. Better to find out now instead of waiting until Teddy is involved."

"It doesn't change anything," said Harry. "I might even love you more, for being so honest with me." He was still holding Draco's hand. He squeezed it.

"You're not angry?"

"I don't have any right to be angry. You thought we were through. I thought we were through. You… were living your life." Harry shook his head. "Besides," he said, "it's not as though I was celibate that whole time."

Draco pulled back, trying to hide the hurt in his eyes and knowing he was failing miserably. "The Weaslette," he muttered. "I knew, of course. I hoped it wasn't true, but I knew you must have…" He looked resolutely at his feet, so he wouldn't have to look at Harry.

Harry laughed, and pulled him back. "It's not like I enjoyed it. I thought about you the whole time." He cupped Draco's chin in his hand, and turned it back toward him. "It's okay," he said. "What's important is that we're together now." He kissed Draco gently, until Draco relaxed enough to kiss him back.

"Are you sure we can't go to the game and rub her face in it?" asked Draco, even though he already knew the answer.

"Come on," said Harry, rising and pulling Draco with him. "Let's send that owl to Dromeda."

The entered the library, and Harry retrieved parchment, quill, and ink from the writing desk. He sat, dipped the quill into the ink, wrote, _"Dear Andromeda,"_ and paused, chewing on the end of the quill.

Harry had forgiven Draco so easily for his dalliance with Pieter. Could Draco be accept that Harry had been intimate with the Weaslette? Yes – yes, he could. She didn't matter. The Weaslette was irrelevant. What mattered was Harry and Draco, together – again. Draco was seized by a sudden urge to reclaim Harry as his own and for Harry to reclaim him. If their sexual past had no bearing on their future together, let them show it. Words were meaningless. Draco wanted action.

He trailed his hand across the edge of the desk, catching Harry's eyes. "I'd rather see something else in your mouth," he said.

Harry removed the quill from his mouth immediately, and wiped his lower lip on the sleeve of his red silk robe. "You're insatiable, Draco," he said. "It's one of your best qualities."

"You know," said Draco, coming around to Harry's side of the writing desk and sitting on the corner, "there won't be any more sex on the kitchen table if they move in with us."

"Well," said Harry, "maybe not as much, anyway. It's a big house, and little boys go to bed early. We'll still have some privacy. We just have to ask Andromeda to be respectful of closed doors, don't you think?"

Draco smirked, and shifted so that his robe fell slightly more open. "Yes," he said. "We will have to set some boundaries early."

Harry tore his gaze from Draco's exposed inner thigh, and swallowed audibly. "Besides," he said, and Draco was amused that his voice sounded slightly strangled, "Teddy deserves two parents who love him and each other. Giving that to him is worth a little sacrifice to me."

"Family is important," Draco said with a shrug – a shrug that, conveniently, shifted his robe further and exposed quite a bit of his shoulder. "We can make it work."

"You're making it very hard for me to concentrate on this letter."

"Moi?" Draco smirked. "I'm just sitting here, innocently, and agreeing with you. How does that make anything hard?"

"Let me show you," Harry said. He dropped the quill, and swept the parchment and open inkbottle onto the floor. "Kitchen table, desk in the library – it's all the same to me."

"You're making quite a mess," observed Draco. Yes – this was exactly what he wanted. Passion burned in Harry's eyes and Draco shivered in anticipation of Harry pounding him into the writing desk.

"Magic," said Harry, standing, and pulling the sash of Draco's robe until it came untied. "I do have a wand, you know."

"Oh, I know," said Draco, keeping his tone as light as possible. "It is, to quote a certain green-eyed Gryffindor, one of your best qualities."

"And don't think I buy that innocent act of yours either," Harry growled into Draco's ear, brushing the back of his knuckles against Draco's left nipple.

"You're right," said Draco. His cock was so hard he could feel every heartbeat pulse down its length. "I've been very bad. Very bad indeed."

"Yes, your old bad-boy image suits you far better," Harry said. He slipped Draco's robe off of his arms. It pooled on the desk behind him. "You had most of the girls in Gryffindor fantasizing about you. The other houses, too, I'd wager."

"Only the girls?" Draco pouted.

"Well, and Seamus Finnigan," said Harry. "I was obsessed with you in rather a different way back then." He trailed his hand down Draco's torso, tracing the contours of his muscles.

"You never could keep your eyes off of me." Draco's breath came shallowly.

"No," agreed Harry. "I couldn't. I studied you – constantly. I knew your schedule as well as I knew my own."

"You still can't keep your eyes off of me."

"How could I?" asked Harry. "Even without you lounging on my desk and arranging your robe for my benefit. Do you think I am not aware of your every move?"

Harry slid his hands down Draco's thighs, avoiding touching his rigid cock. "Now that I think about it," he said, "my obsession with you was very much because you were such a bad boy."

Draco leaned back, propped up by his arms on the desk behind him, making sure Harry could not ignore his now aching hard-on. "You thought I was naughty," he said.

Harry chuckled, and corrected him. "I KNOW you're naughty."

"Perhaps," said Draco, with a suggestive eyebrow waggle, "you should… punish me."

Harry cocked one eyebrow up so high it disappeared behind his fringe.

"Yes," he said slowly. "Perhaps a bit of discipline is what you need after all."

Harry slid the sash off of his own robe, stepped behind Draco, and used it to bind Draco's hands behind him. Then he ran a finger down Draco's spine, stopping at the green silk draped around his arse. Draco shivered.

"I want you to sit here like a good boy," Harry said, "until I am done writing."

"Or what?" Draco found his mouth slightly dry. He'd wanted – no, he'd expected – sex. Rough sex. Hard, fast, no-holds barred, possessive sex, with lots of passion, sweat, and profanity. Not… this.

"The longer it takes me to finish," said Harry, "the longer it will take YOU to finish, if you get my meaning. So you may not want to distract me too much." He circled back to the front of the desk and gave a meaningful glance to Draco's turgid cock. Draco groaned, but thought better of complaining.

Harry reseated himself, his robe hanging wide open to reveal his own erection. He swiveled the desk chair so that Draco had a full view. He leaned back, reached between his legs and traced one finger up the vein on the underside of his cock. "You want this?"

Draco nodded. "You're evil, Harry."

Harry curled his palm around his shaft and stroked himself once. Twice. Draco's mouth now seemed to have too much saliva. He swallowed.

"You can have it when I'm done writing. IF you've been a good boy."

"Harry," said Draco, and he was disturbed to find that he sounded slightly panicky. He took a deep breath to steady himself. "Be reasonable. How are you going to write when you dumped your ink all over the floor?"

It was Harry's turn to smirk. "Weren't you listening? I'll use my wand."

"You haven't got your wand. It's upstairs."

Harry abruptly pulled his robe closed. "Kreacher," he said loudly.

With a crack, the old house-elf appeared in the library. His eyes bulged even wider than usual upon seeing Draco's condition, and he immediately averted them.

"What is Master Harry wishing?" Kreacher asked, examining the pattern of the rug.

"My wand, Kreacher. Please bring it to me. It's in my bedroom, on the bedside table."

"What the fucking hell, Harry?" cried Draco, as soon as Kreacher had disappeared. But before Harry could respond, the old elf was back, still looking anywhere but at Draco, the wand in his outstretched hands.

"Is Master needing anything else?"

"That's all I need," said Harry, biting back a laugh. "Draco, anything for you?"

"A beater's bat would be nice, to club your head in," Draco growled.

"Ah, just like old times," said Harry. "He's joking, Kreacher. That's all. Thank you."

CRACK!

The elf was gone.

"I can't believe you did that," said Draco.

Harry reached over and caressed Draco's thigh, sliding his hand upward, brushing his hand across the blond curls. "I thought you were in a hurry for me to finish this letter. It was the fastest way."

"Fuck. Get writing then, you perverted bastard."

Harry used his wand to return the ink to the bottle, and to levitate the inkbottle, quill, and letter back to the desktop.

Draco read the parchment. "'Dear Andromeda'? That's all you've got so far?"

Harry sucked on the quill again, and looked up at Draco. "You have an idea what I should write next?"

"Dear Andromeda," said Draco. "I'll be brief, because I've got Draco naked and tied up, waiting for me. Please come to dinner at Grimmauld Place this Saturday at six. We will skip the Harpies game so that Harry doesn't upset the Weaslette, and go to a different game the following weekend instead. Love, Harry."

"That's not bad," said Harry, brushing the quill feather against his lips. "You can be downright helpful when you are properly motivated."

"Just write it, already," said Draco. "My wrists are chafing."

"Oh, for Godric's sake," said Harry. "I tied you up with silk, not leather. You're fine."

Harry took his time copying out a slightly different version of the letter than Draco had suggested, stopping periodically to brush the quill teasingly across his lips. He addressed the letter formally to Mrs. Andromeda Casseopeia Black Tonks with a flourish, obviously intending to antagonize Draco further. Much to Draco's chagrin, it worked.

"All right, damn it: you're done, now untie me," said Draco, raising his arms behind him. He couldn't lift them very far.

"No, I don't think that I'm quite ready to do that," said Harry. He swiveled the chair again to face Draco, allowing him an unobstructed view once more.

Draco scooted forward on the desk, inching one hip and then the other, until he could hop off. "Untie me, Potter," he growled. "I did as you said and let you finish. Now I believe you said you had something for me?"

"Oh, so it's 'Potter' again, is it?" Harry chuckled. "You are definitely slipping back into your bad boy habits." With a casual gesture, Harry again tucked his robe around himself. "For your information, Malfoy, I have a rather wide naughty streak myself. I just hide it better than you do." He grinned, then shouted, "Kreacher!"

Draco yelped and spun to face the desk so that he would not be completely exposed to the house elf again. Unfortunately, although he had hopped off of the desk, his robe had not hopped with him. This new orientation merely displayed his bare arse and bound wrists, instead of his now slightly wilted erection.

Kreacher appeared with a pop, this time studying the ceiling instead of either of the wizards in the room.

"What is Master wanting this time?" asked the elf, sounding even more surly than usual.

"Please take the roll of parchment from the desk," said Harry, "and give it to Baldur. Tell him it's for Andromeda, and that he should wait for a reply. That will be all."

The parchment flew to Kreacher's hand, and he disappeared once more with a loud crack.

"Are you quite finished doing that?" asked Draco.

"Yes," said Harry with a laugh. "I believe I am." In two steps, he was standing directly behind Draco.

Draco felt Harry's breath move the fine hairs on the back of his neck, and he shuddered involuntarily. A warm hand cupped his right arse cheek.

"Stop," said Draco. "You may have found it amusing, but your little stunt with the house-elf has put me quite out of the mood. That ugly thing can kill a hard-on quicker than an ice-cold Aguamenti."

"I'm sure I can fix that," purred Harry, right in Draco's ear. He enfolded himself around Draco from behind. "You'll notice," he said, his cock pressed into Draco's fingers, "it didn't kill mine. How could it, when I've got you standing here looking like sin itself?"

"'Sin' is a little tired of being trussed up like a turkey for your amusement," groused Draco, though his arousal was ratcheting up again by the second. Harry's hand slipped around Draco's right hip and located his hardening cock. Draco groaned, abandoning all pretense of disinterest. Harry's hot breath warmed Draco to his core; his hand stroked slowly up and down Draco's prick. Together, they constituted a potent and irresistible combination. Draco was quickly turning to mush.

"You seem to have recovered," noted Harry.

Draco leaned back into Harry's chest. "Shit, Harry," moaned Draco. "Just fuck me already… you're killing me." Harry's cock was hard in Draco's hands, and the pressure against Draco's arse inflamed his desire further.

With his free hand, Harry scrabbled on the desk for his wand, and found it. "Lubricanus," he muttered, and Draco felt the warmth of the lubrication charm slicking his passage.

"Fuck, yes," he gasped. "Harry, please… untie me now."

Harry Vanished the sash, and tossed his wand back to the desk. "Since you asked so nicely," he said, his breath coming faster.

Draco grabbed Harry's hips behind him and ground himself onto Harry, feeling the ridge of Harry's cock pressing into the cleft of his arse.

Harry growled, and pushed Draco, bending him toward the desk. With a swift adjustment, he brought the head of his cock to Draco's entrance. "Draco," he murmured, as he pushed forward. "My gods, Draco. You're so fucking tight."

Bracing himself against the desk with one hand, Draco arched his back and impaled himself further onto Harry's shaft, making them both gasp. A wave of lust coursed through his body, curling his toes. Harry began to move, plunging slow and deep, and Draco urged him on. "Harder," he panted. He bent his elbow and hissed with delight when he found an angle at which Harry was hitting his pleasure spot with every stroke.

"Oh, fuck yes," Harry rasped. "Oh, my gods." He slowed further. "Jesus, Draco, keep making those noises."

"Faster," Draco cried, "sweet fucking Merlin, Harry – faster!" But instead, Harry withdrew completely. Draco practically howled at the loss.

"Turn around," Harry said, his voice thick with lust.

Draco lost no time in complying. Harry's mouth crashed into his, his tongue demanding, unyielding, as he pushed Draco backward onto the desk. In a moment, Harry was back in place, shoulders under Draco's knees. He rammed into Draco again from this more familiar angle, his hand stroking Draco's cock in time with his movements. Draco cried out incoherently and Harry sounded as though he'd turned into a werewolf, grunting and snarling with each thrust. They came almost simultaneously, Harry's orgasm washing through him moments after Draco shot his load over Harry's fist. Harry collapsed onto Draco's chest, Draco's legs falling to the sides.

"Holy hell," gasped Draco. "Bloody buggering fuck, that was amazing."

Harry merely nodded, his hair tickling Draco's chin.

After several minutes, Draco shifted uncomfortably. "Can you get up?"

"No," murmured Harry. "I'm spent. Besides, I like listening to your heartbeat."

"You're such a Hufflepuff," said Draco, shoving at Harry's shoulders.

That did it. Harry peeled himself off of Draco. "Take it back," he said.

"Make me," said Draco.

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but was interrupted by a loud banging sound at the library window. Baldur had returned. He threw open the window and removed the message from the owl's leg, giving him an appreciative pat on the head. "Don't go far," he told the owl. "We'll have another delivery for you a little later."

Right. Draco's lust-clouded brain had forgotten. He still needed to pick up the tickets from Malfoy Manor – and inform his mother that he was moving out – and then they'd send the tickets to Krum and Granger.

Harry unrolled the parchment. "They're coming to dinner," he said. "Do you really think they'll move in?"

"How am I supposed to know?" Draco raised himself on one elbow. "Do I look like Sybil Trelawney to you?" When Harry smirked broadly, Draco added, "And if you ever want to shag me again, you'll be careful how you answer that."

"Fair enough," said Harry. "Though you really shouldn't ask questions if you don't want to hear the answers."

"You're hilarious," Draco deadpanned. "Let's get cleaned up," he said, deciding it was time to change the subject. "It will amuse me to watch you try to sweet talk Mother into accepting you as a substitute for the daughter-in-law she'll never have." He stood, and recovered his robe from where it had fallen on the floor.

"Okay," Harry agreed. "Don't worry. She loves me." He grinned.

"Don't be so cocky," said Draco, pulling the robe over his shoulders again. "I understand she had hoped for grandchildren. I don't know if being a foster grandmother to Teddy will quite do it, though at least he does share Black blood."

"It's going to be okay," Harry told him, and pulled him into an embrace. "Trust me."

Two hours later, Harry and Draco were back at Grimmauld Place, Quidditch tickets in hand, after what Draco considered a very successful visit. Narcissa was not surprised to hear that Draco was moving to Grimmauld Place, as she too had read the paper. Harry invited her to visit them often. She accepted the invitation graciously, though not exactly warmly.

"What are you talking about?" said Draco, when Harry voiced this concern. "For Mother, that WAS warm."

"No," said Harry, placing Draco's palm over his tented trousers. "I'll show you warm."

The rest of the week flew by in a blur of busy days and wanton, sex-filled nights. They sent the Harpies-Magpies match tickets to Viktor Krum and Hermione Granger. Harry's note to Krum merely mentioned that Ginny was playing for the Harpies and that Viktor might enjoy the match. The note to Hermione did not reveal that the gift came from Draco. Only Harry ever knew of Draco's moment of generosity, and Draco was perfectly happy to keep it that way. For one thing, he deeply enjoyed the way Harry expressed his gratitude.

Harry and Kreacher cleaned Grimmauld Place thoroughly in anticipation of Andromeda and Teddy's arrival. Draco would not be recruited for cleaning, though he tastefully transfigured some of the upholstery to give the place a more modern feel. Together, they created a nursery in one of the second floor bedrooms, and equipped the adjoining room as an apartment for Andromeda.

Over dinner on Saturday, Harry and Draco invited Andromeda and Teddy to come and live at Grimmauld Place with them. She was moved by the invitation, and said she would consider it. When they showed her the redesigned second floor, her dark eyes misted over. "Let me sleep on it," she told them. "It sounds wonderful, but I don't want to feel like we are intruding on your privacy." The very next morning, she owled saying they would move in. She was starting to pack their things, and they could make the transition over the course of the next week. Harry's excitement was contagious, and Draco found himself grinning throughout the day in a most undignified manner.

Monday was unseasonably warm, and Draco insisted they get out of the house, after spending so much time cleaning and redecorating. They strolled through Diagon Alley, on their way to Quality Quidditch Supplies to get a Magpies jersey and a toy broom for Teddy.

"How about a stop into Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes after that?" said Harry.

"Must we?" Draco's lip curled, as if he smelled something awful.

"I think Teddy would like having a Pygmy Puff," Harry said. "And I bet a Headless Hat would make him laugh."

"Fine," said Draco. "But then I am dragging you to Knockturn Alley."

"Eurgh." It was Harry's turn to pull a face. "I hope you're not planning to bring home anything slimy in a jar, like all those things in Snape's office."

"Of course I am," said Draco, smirking. "I intend to turn our bedroom into an exact replica of the Hogwarts dungeons. You didn't expect me to leave it looking like a Gryffindor dormitory, did you?"

"No," said Harry, laughing. "I suppose we could find a more neutral color. What are you really getting from Knockturn Alley, though?"

"Probably nothing," Draco said. "About a year ago, I told Borgin to discontinue notification of Dark Arts books, but I think I should start them again. I'd still like to work on the stuff that's left in the attic, and if I do decide to go into freelance curse-breaking, I'll need those references."

"Bugger," said Harry, walking faster. "We're being followed."

Draco whipped his head around and slipped his wand from his pocket, fearing… well, he didn't know. Death Eaters? Dementors? Weasleys?

No. A small man with mousy hair and a large camera. "Photographer?"

"Daily Prophet," Harry said. Then he pointed out a woman in a nearby doorway pulling a smaller camera from a bag. "And that one's Witch Weekly. It's the first time we've been in public since the Prophet told everyone about us. We'll be splashed all over the paper again tomorrow."

Draco grabbed Harry's hand and slowed him down. Flashbulbs popped behind them. "Stop running," he said. "It's not so bad. Maybe they'll call us handsome again."

"I don't want to be called handsome. I want to live my life with a bit of privacy."

"Not gonna happen, love," said Draco. "You save the Wizarding world from the Dark Lord, and you're a public figure. Might as well have fun with it."

Harry shot Draco an alarmed look. "Fun?"

"Fun," said Draco. "Certainly you remember what that is." He stopped walking, still holding Harry's hand, and pulled him close. "But if you need a reminder…" He bent to kiss Harry full on the mouth, threading his fingers into Harry's hair. Harry whimpered for a moment, then wrapped his arms around Draco and parted his lips for Draco's tongue. Draco was dimly aware of more flashbulbs and some wolf-whistles.

When he finally released Harry, a small crowd had gathered around them. Harry's glasses were askew, and slightly fogged. The crowd tittered and giggled as Harry wove slightly, before catching his balance.

"Merlin's balls, Parkinson," said a voice Draco recognized as belonging to Blaise Zabini. "No wonder you're still hot for Malfoy. Where do I sign up to get snogged like that?"

Draco turned to see Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini pushing their way to the front of the crowd, licking ice cream cones from Fortescue's.

"I don't think you're likely to get any, Blaise, darling," said Pansy. "Apparently Draco only has eyes for Harry Potter, the Pouf who Lived."

Harry pulled Draco close again, and tilted his head to whisper in Draco's ear. "Can we just Apparate out of here?"

Draco shook his head. "Come on, Gryffindor," he whispered back. "I didn't think running away was your style."

Draco turned back to the onlookers, and drew himself up to his full height. "Perhaps you've forgotten," he said loudly, "that Harry Potter saved all of your arses not so long ago. He deserves some respect. Now you've gotten your photos, I'd appreciate you leaving us in peace for the rest of the day. And if you can't manage that," he said, pointing his wand into the photographers' faces, "you'll have to deal with me."

Parkinson rolled her eyes. "Gods, Draco. The Pouf Who Lived has got you totally whipped. What are you now, his press agent? His bodyguard? His pet?"

Draco took Harry's hand again and smiled at Parkinson serenely. "Actually, Parkinson," he said, "I'm the Pouf who Lived With Him."

Parkinson gasped, and dropped her ice cream cone. Several people laughed.

Draco started walking again toward Quality Quidditch Supplies, Harry beside him in stunned silence.

A few shops from their destination, Harry finally found his voice again. "The Pouf who Lived With Him?" He shook his head, but he was smiling. "You're never going to hear the end of that one. You've gone completely mental, you know."

"Really?" Draco laughed. "Let's see. Intentionally kissing Harry Potter in front of photographers?"

"Mental," said Harry.

"Telling Slytherins that I'm gay and living with a Gryffindor?"

"Definitely mental," said Harry.

"I guess it's true, then," said Draco. "What does it mean that I don't give a flying fuck that I've gone mental?"

Harry stopped. They had reached Quality Quidditch Supplies. He rose onto the balls of his feet and planted a quick kiss on Draco's lips. "I think it means that you love me," he said. "Come on – let's go buy some gifts for our half-werewolf, half-metamorphmagus foster son."

"Completely mental," said Draco. "Let's do it."

Together, they walked through the door.

* * *

_A/N: This is the end of the story! But stay tuned for our next – and final – chapter, which will answer all those silly questions we've put as teasers at the end of chapters 1 through 10. That's thirty questions we'll answer for you – don't miss it!_


	12. Chapter 12: In Case You Were Wondering

Standard Disclaimer: We do not own Harry or Draco, which – in our opinions – is a damned shame. We're not making any money from writing this story (another shame). Everything you recognize belongs to J.K. Rowling. The dirty parts belong to us!

_A/N: About a third of our crazy questions were inspired by wizard rock songs. In the answers, below, we'll give you the name of the band and song, so you can look for it if you're interested. Much of this stuff is available on iTunes, and most of the bands have Myspace pages. That said…._

_**Further Disclaimer:** We are NOT trying to sell you wizard rock CDs. And we're not getting any kickbacks from the wrockers. We just love wizard rock and find the lyrics are often inspired and frequently hilarious, and when we tried to think of insane questions to ask, situations from wrock songs came to mind. Info on bands and songs is provided merely as a courtesy, not as an advertisement._

_**Yet Another Disclaimer:** Please don't sue us, Vidal Sassoon or any of his family. We're just playing. We're sure that neither Hermione Granger nor Rita Skeeter were in any way responsible for the breakup of your marriage. (Here, the authors smile angelically….)_

* * *

**Chapter 12: In Case You Were Wondering…**

**From Chapter One: Summer**

**_Will Draco regret turning Harry down? _**

Are you high?!?! Of course he regrets it. Wouldn't you? (You'll notice he made up for lost time later.)

**_Will Ginny tell Harry the baby she's carrying is really Dobby's love child? _**

Eventually, the truth will come out. During Ginny's sixth year, when the Death Eaters were in charge of Hogwarts and everything was frightening, Dobby went to the room of requirement seeking reassurance. Ginny, as a leader in the rebellion, was able to be strong for him, and pulled him into a comforting hug. House-elves, however, are quite short, and even though Ginny is not a tall girl, Dobby found his face pressed rather intimately into Ginny's bosom.

"Dobby likes Miss Ginnys chest bumps," he told her. "Dobby is thinking they is very soft and pointy. May Dobby be touching them?"

Well, one thing led to another. She never told anyone. She had no idea she was pregnant – house-elves have a 30-month gestation period. By the time our story ends, she is just starting to show, but she and everyone else just assumes that she has been eating too much. (In fact, her appetite has become ravenous, as she is now eating for 2, and it takes a lot of energy to feed all the magical power in a house-elf fetus.) The medi-witch who performs the pre-season physicals before Ginny's second year of playing for the Holyhead Harpies will correctly diagnose the pregnancy. By then, of course, Ginny and Harry are no longer together as a couple, though they have repaired their friendship. When she gives birth to a house-elf with Dobby's distinctive nose, she comes clean about what happened so long ago. Harry is thrilled, actually, to have some part of Dobby back in his life. He showers the young elf with attention and acts as a father figure for her.

**_Will the secret of Hermione's heritage ever be uncovered?_**

As it turns out, Hermione is really the daughter of Rita Skeeter and Vidal Sassoon. The two had a brief, passionate fling. Rita purposefully flubbed the contraceptive charm, hoping to trap the handsome and wealthy hairstylist into ending his marriage and marrying her. She did conceive, but Sassoon refused to leave his wife. Rita gave Hermione up for adoption shortly after the birth. Ironically, Sassoon's marriage ended a year later when his wife proved unfaithful, but he never went back to Rita.

Hermione's parents never told her she was adopted. Rita Skeeter never realized that the girl she slandered during Harry's fourth year was her own daughter. Hermione never knew that the beetle she trapped in the jar was her mother.

Ethics, it seems, must come more from nurture than from nature. The Grangers raised a daughter who usually followed the Golden Rule, unlike her birth mother, with her generally rather loose moral code.

Really, it's too bad that Sassoon never knew about Hermione. He would certainly have tamed the girl's bushy 'do long before the Yule Ball.

* * *

**From Chapter Two: Fall**

**_Will the guard walk in to find our heroes in a compromising position? _**

Well, you read the next chapter, so you know already that no guard did walk in on them. What you may not know is that Harry secretly hoped that they would be walked in on – he has a very naughty exhibitionist streak.

**_Will George find out that Charlie's not a natural redhead? _**

First of all, props to Jarrod, the wizard rock band **Gred and Forge**, who wrote the fabulous song "Brotherly Love" which first posed this possibility. It's on the Siriusly Smiling CD which can be found on iTunes.

Now, to answer the question. Actually, it's Fred AND George that find out that Charlie's not a natural redhead. Reader and reviewer **NJFerrell **tells us that Charlie is really blond, and has been dying his hair ginger his whole life to keep his mother's secret. Molly once had an affair with Abraxas Malfoy, Lucius's father. We have encouraged NJFerrell to write her elaborate story and post it on for all of us to enjoy.

The question NJFerrell did not answer is HOW Fred and George made such a discovery. The song Brotherly Love gives us one possible answer. Our alternative answer: When Charlie came home from Romania in advance of Bill and Fleur's wedding, he went shopping on Diagon Alley to find a wedding present for the happy couple. He stopped in at Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes to visit his brothers. The twins suggested he browse their back room, the Adults Only section, which housed several of the more personal Wonder Witch products and the new Masculine Marvels line. They offered him a free sample of Madame Chatterley's Chocolate Love Dust (see **Felena1971**'s story "Whatever the Birthday Boy Wishes" for a full account of the effects of this incredible product). He wanted to test it right away, so the three slipped upstairs to the twins' flat so they could give it a proper demo. As soon as Charlie dropped his pants, Fred and George noticed that Charlie's carpeting didn't match his drapes, and they had some serious questions for him.

**_Will Hagrid teach Grawp to knit sweaters? _**

Due to the unfortunate size of his fingers, Grawp never developed the necessary manual dexterity for the knit one purl two pattern required for making sleeves. Instead he is forced to spend his days knitting the scarves for incoming Hogwarts first years.

**

* * *

From Chapter Three: Falling Further**

**_Will Harry and Draco ever look at the décor of Grimmauld Place? _**

Yes, they did. Draco deemed the kitchen table, a desk, all the beds, a couch, a settee, and an ottoman all fabulous - particularly when adorned with a naked Harry Potter moaning out his name. Although they all needed a thorough cleaning following the tour, and two items needed to be repaired.

**_Will Draco help the St. Mungo's Healers discover a cure for Marietta Edgecombe's pimples?_**

No. However, one of the Healers does, eventually (and without Draco's help) invent a potion that turns the pimples into facial hair. This is a vast improvement – so long as Marietta shaves carefully every morning and applies a thick coat of powder, she can go out without her balaclava. However, by dinnertime, she must go home for the day or find a private place to shave again, as she begins to sport a 5 o'clock shadow that spells out the word "sneak."

**_Will Tonks join Remus and the Whomping Willow for a "treesome"?_**

Again, special thanks to our friend **Tonksadora **for letting us use her idea of a treesome. Also major props to Matt, of the wizard rock band **The Whomping Willows**, who regularly sings about a romantic relationship between the tree and the werewolf. You can find Matt's songs on iTunes. The sexiest of these, in IJDTW's opinion is "Crawl Through My Treehole," though the catchy "Hey Remus" and humorous "When You Touched Me in that Special Place" are also good examples.

Now to the question: yes, in fact, Tonks will do just that. Whompy will do his best to be gentle with his lovers, but gentle for the Whomping Willow is still pretty hardcore. Let's just say it's a good thing that both Remus and Tonks like it rough.

It was a moonlit night over the summer, just a couple of months after Dumbledore's death. The school was mostly deserted, so there was very little chance of anyone seeing their sexual experimentation. All three were still deeply affected by the loss of the Headmaster. Their bold and unconventional relationship helped them to feel alive again.

"Oh, Whompy," said Remus. "It's been so long since I've been in your treehole." He shuddered in anticipation.

**_BLEEEEEEEP!_**

_The Ministry of Magic has deleted the rest of this answer, having deemed it unsuitable for public consumption. Please go read a nice K+ story – something fluffy and funny – and forget this whole scenario._

_Respectfully,_

_Percy Weasley_

_Junior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic_

**

* * *

From Chapter Four: Fallen**

**_Will Draco move into Grimmauld Place with Harry? _**

Of course he did. How else would he have earned his fabulous new title "The Pouf Who Lived With Him"? Needless to say, Harry and Draco have been very happy living together.

Kreacher, however, has mixed feelings about the new living arrangements. He has always had a soft spot for Draco ("Master Malfoy moves with a nobility that befits his pure blood," croaked Kreacher at once. "His features recall the fine bones of my mistress and his manners are those of – " [HBP page 451]). Even so, he is uncomfortable seeing Draco in certain… situations. He has now developed a habit of appearing with his eyes clamped firmly shut when he is summoned.

**_Will Blaise Zabini become America's Next Top Model? _**

No, in fact, he becomes Britain's Next Top Model (special thanks to **Idina Malfoy **for pointing this out!). He also becomes an actor, and wins a BAFTA award for Best Actor in a Leading Role for his portrayal of the character Benjamin Braddock in a British remake of The Graduate. (Special thanks also to **Silver Zabini** for constantly answering our questions about British culture.)

**_Will Ginny Weasley be elected Hogwarts's first ever Homecoming Queen? _**

No, Ginny lost out on that honor to Dottie the house elf. She did, however, win the following auspicious titles:

Most Likely To Sleep Her Way To The Top.

Most Likely To Sleep With An Entire Quidditch Team

Most Likely To Have A Venereal Disease Named After Her

Most Likely To Screw The Giant Squid (he's so....BENDY)

Most Attractive Display Of Ankles Behind Ears.

**

* * *

From Chapter Five: Winter**

**_Will Harry and Draco make up? _**

Well, yes. If you read this far, you know that they did make up. And then make out. A lot. In fact, the making up turned out to be so much fun that Draco now purposefully irritates the hell out of Harry on a regular basis, just so that they can have make-up sex more often.

**_Will Moaning Myrtle have to call Orkin to get rid of the Nargles in her mistletoe? _**

We love the wizard rock band **The Moaning Myrtles**. This question was inspired by the song Nargles in the Mistletoe which is available on iTunes (it's on the Jingle Spells 2 CD). Myrtle is at Slughorn's Christmas party, and overhears Luna Lovegood talking about Nargles in the mistletoe. Myrtle assumes the Nargles are the reason why no boy has yet kissed her, even though she's been hanging out under the mistletoe all night. Part of the answer to this question, however, is inspired by another Moaning Myrtles song, "Sitting on the Toilet" on the Toilet Humor CD (also available on iTunes).

Our question deals with how Myrtle will get rid of the beasts. Once she has exhausted her own resources, she realizes she needs to call in some kind of pest control expert. She remembers the Orkin man who used to come fumigate her childhood home whenever her beloved kittie brought home fleas. Certainly he would be able to get rid of the Nargles! But… how to reach him? You can't just send a message via owl post to a Muggle exterminator. (The authors would like to remind everyone that by "Muggle exterminator" we mean a Muggle who specializes in exterminating household pests, NOT an evil wizard who specializes in exterminating Muggles.)

Myrtle needs a telephone. But beyond that, she needs fingers that can DIAL a telephone, instead of passing right through the damned thing.

"Harry," she says, popping up in the bathroom in the 6th year boys' dormitory in Gryffindor tower as our hero is brushing his teeth. "I need you to do a little favor for me."

Startled, Harry drops his toothbrush into the sink and yelps. "Myrtle," he pants, as soon as he is able to speak. "You… you don't come here often, do you?" He thanks Merlin he sleeps in his pajamas, instead of just in a pair of boxers like Dean Thomas does.

Myrtle sidles up to him, giving him a chill. "I could spend more time here, if you want me to… You know I'm especially fond of you, Harry."

"That's… lovely," says Harry. "Er… what are you doing here?"

"I need to make a telephone call, Harry. And I can't do it without help. I need a telephone, and someone who can dial it. Would you make a telephone call for me when you go home for the holidays?"

Harry goggles at Myrtle. "Why on earth do you need to make a telephone call, Myrtle?"

Myrtle explains to Harry all about the Nargles in the Mistletoe keeping the boys away, and how she thinks the Orkin man can help.

"Calling Orkin won't help, Myrtle," he says. "How would the bloke get in here anyway, to spray? Muggles can't even SEE Hogwarts."

Looking more dejected than ever – if that's possible – Myrtle picks forlornly at a spot on her chin. "I guess there's no hope then," she whines. "No one will ever kiss me."

Blame it on the butterbeer. Blame it on the eggnog. Blame it on Wrackspurts. Blame it on whatever you like. Harry feels a surge of pity for poor Myrtle, accompanied by an unfortunate sense of Yuletide generosity. "I'll kiss you, Myrtle," he says. "A Happy Christmas kiss between friends."

Behind her glasses, Myrtle's eyes brighten. "Oh, Harry," she says. "I always knew you would come around!"

Now thinking better of his rash offer, Harry winces, but won't back down from his word. He puckers up, and leans forward as Myrtle glides ever closer…. But instead of feeling her lips, he just feels coldness envelop his face. His lips have gone right through her.

"Nooooo!" Myrtle wails more loudly than Harry has ever heard her wail before, and then dives headfirst into the toilet, splashing water all over the place.

Ron rushes in to find the watery mess and a bemused Harry. "You all right, mate? What happened? Was that… a girl's voice?"

"You don't want to know," answers Harry. "Trust me."

**_Will Winky join Butterbeer Addicts Anonymous and get the help she needs?_**

Yes, thankfully, she does. After the war, she goes to BAA, and gets herself sober. A year later, she hits the talk-show circuit with her tell-all book about the seedy underside of the Hogwarts kitchens, "Of Omelets and Oppression."

**

* * *

From Chapter Six: Spring**

**_What lengths will Molly go to win tickets for the next Celestina Warbeck concert?_**

Molly proves that she is willing to go to great lengths to attend Celestina's next show. Though George never knew it, Molly has long been aware of his secret stash of prank-pulling materials, and she nips a bit of Polyjuice Potion from his old room at the Burrow. Then, Disillusioned, she sneaks into the apartment of the music reviewer for Witch Weekly, stuns the woman, plucks one of her hairs, and adds it to the potion.

Her disguise works perfectly – she is ushered past the long line of concert-goers, and given backstage privileges. On a whim, Molly darts into Celestina's dressing room just before the show, hoping to nick a tiny souvenir. Maybe a tube of lipstick, in Celestina's signature coral. But the dressing room is… Molly can't even put a name to the level of mess that assaults her. It is like nothing she's ever seen, and she raised six boys!

Instinct takes over. Unable to stop herself, Molly starts cleaning. And keeps cleaning, and cleaning, and cleaning. Her Polyjuice, of course, wears off while she is distracted. She gets nabbed by security, and busted.

Witch Weekly is rather upset with her, as is (as you might well imagine) the REAL music reviewer. Molly gets out of trouble by promising to write a weekly column, "Helpful Hints for Busy Witches."

Celestina Warbeck is initially incensed to find out a fan has broken into her dressing room, but when she sees how clean it is, and learns what Molly has done just to get into the concert, she is so charmed that she gives Molly VIP treatment and backstage passes to all the rest of the shows on her tour.

**_Will the Giant Squid find his long lost twin brother? _**

Yes, he does find his twin brother, Hank, in prison. At first he is overjoyed to find his sibling, but when he learns that his ex-girlfriend, Melissa, left him for Hank, he flies into a rage. Hank is, for the first time, happy to be in prison: as long as he is incarcerated, he is safe from the Giant Squidstravaganza's wrath. You can hear all about the story on **the Giant Squidstravaganza**'s double-CD set "Death to Humans" which includes several episodes of "Days in Our Lake" as well as some pretty fun songs.

_**Will Andromeda lock Harry and Draco into a room together, and if so, will they ever want to come out?**_

Andromeda didn't have to lock them into a room together, because Harry was kidnapped, Draco came riding in on his white horse and rescued him, there was a declaration of love, a bath, some sex, some food, some more sex, a plan to move in, some more sex, a plan to expand their "family," a couple of confessions, some more sex, some very public smooching, some shopping…. Well. You read it, right?

However, Harry and Draco frequently lock themselves into a room, cast a silencing charm, and have a lovely time together. And no, once they get going, they don't ever want to come out, but alas – eventually they get hungry.

* * *

**From Chapter Seven: Summer Scorcher**

**_Will Narcissa try to set Draco up with any more of her "friends"?_**

Now that Draco is happily involved with Harry, Narcissa is left with nothing to do. She decides to concentrate her attentions on finding a lover for Pieter and ends up hooking him up with Seamus Finnigan.

**_Will Ginny Weasley autograph Millicent Bullstrode's breasts? _**

No. She autographs Millicent Bullstrode's arse.

**_Is Blaise really sleeping with Pansy's parents? _**

He is. Pansy thinks the whole thing is a running joke, just Blaisey being outrageous as usual, which means Blaise can talk all he wants about how much he enjoys fucking her father up the arse and all the does is laugh: "Oh Blaise, you're such wicked, wicked little tease!"

* * *

**From Chapter Eight: Fall into Winter**

**_Will Kingsley go along with Draco's plan? _**

That depends on which plan you mean. Did Kingsley go along with Draco's plan to rescue Harry? Absolutely. (You did read the story didn't you?)

Did Kingsley go along with Draco's plans for what he wanted to do with Harry _after_ the rescue? As we've said, Harry is a bit of an exhibitionist. About a week after the rescue, Draco and Harry went to the Ministry so that Harry could turn in his letter of resignation. Draco, wanting to do something really special for Harry, pulled Kingsley aside and asked if he would consent to being an audience while Harry made love to Draco. This plan, however, Kingsley could not support. Draco is still looking for someone to serve as that audience. Any takers?

**_Will Hermione learn who switched her Sleek-eeze's for Lady Carlee's Curling Cream?_**

Sadly, no one has yet learned who pulled this cruel prank. The unwitting Hermione applied the cream to her hair the morning of her first day of work at the Ministry, and had no time to repair the damage or replace her Sleek-eeze without being late to work. She conjured a hat, jammed her hair up into it, and stalked out of her flat. A Witch Weekly reporter stopped her on her way to work to ask about her sudden new fashion sense (everyone knew by then about Hermione's attempts to knit hats for house-elves – was it a political statement of some type?). Hermione, rather high strung when under stress, drew her wand and ran away, screaming, "I don't want to talk about it!"

**_Will Firenze be appointed the next sex-ed teacher at Hogwarts?_**

He did briefly hold the post. Madam Pomfrey worked so hard to heal so many after the war that she asked Headmistress McGonagall for a one year sabbatical. Her request was granted immediately. Firenze stepped in as her substitute to teach sex-ed to the first years. But McGonagall received so many complaints that the students were only learning how to have sex "centaur-style" that he was removed from the post. Everyone was glad to see Madam Pomfrey back in the Hospital Wing the following year, for oh, so many reasons.

(This question and answer were both inspired by the song "An Entering Hogwarts First Year Expresses His Concerns" by the **Mudbloods**, and featured on the Siriusly Smiling album.)

* * *

**From Chapter Nine: Sprung**

**_Will Ginny put bulbadox powder in all of Harry's boxer shorts?_**

Yes, Ginny does put bulbadox powder in all of Harry's undergarments. Luckily, Draco prefers Harry to go "commando" and vanished all of Harry's boxers before Harry ever came in contact with the irritating stuff.

**_Will Pansy Parkinson help Draco and Harry pick out their china pattern? _**

Actually, Draco and Harry don't need any help, because they aren't picking a china pattern. They are both happy to Sirius's old china (formerly Walburga's), with the Black family crest emblazoned on it.

She does, however, insist on tagging along for their honeymoon. She claims she just wants to make sure they cast their sunscreen charms properly, but Draco suspects it has more to do with lovely monogrammed black leather whip and collar they received as an anonymous wedding gift. Harry, predictably, goes along with the ruse with a not-terribly-convincing innocent smile.

**_Will Neville Longbottom be the next contestant on Dancing with the Stars?_**

Neville does become a contestant on DWTS, and is a fan favorite. However, he's unable to continue because he's too shy to look at his partner Edyta Śliwińska in her costumes (or, perhaps more accurately, her lack thereof) and is therefore unable to continue past week one.

* * *

**From Chapter Ten: Renewal**

**_Will Harry and Draco adopt Teddy and make their own version of "My Two Dads"? _**

Well, not exactly. Harry was familiar with the show, as it ran until shortly before he went off to Hogwarts. Indeed, he may have gotten some of his ideas about what it means to be a father from watching the weekly struggles of Michael and Joey as they raised Nicole. Michael and Joey, however, were not in love with each other, as Harry and Draco are, and definitely didn't have to worry about warding their bedroom door and putting up silencing charms so that Nicole didn't walk in to find one of them pounding the other into the mattress and chanting his lover's name like a mantra.

**_Will Millicent Bulstrode finally give in and go out with Justin Finch-Fletchley? _**

Eventually, yes, she does. He adores her, everything about her, including her heavy, aggressive jaw. She turns him down repeatedly until he happens to run into her at PetSmart picking up more catnip for her cat. He strokes her pussy so tenderly that finally… she can't say no any longer. Anyone who can make her pussy purr like that deserves to be given a chance. (Our version has a happier ending than the song "Miss Bulstrode" by **Justin Finch-Fletchley and the Sugar Quills**, featured on the Siriusly Smiling album, in which Millicent turns down his pleas with a throaty – and deep – "Sorry, JFF, you're just not my type.")

_**Will Seamus Finnigan find appreciation for his one-"man" drag show outside the Gryffindor common room?**_

Seamus enjoys terrific success with his act, until Narcissa hooks him up with the delectable Pieter. Once he meets that tasty hunk of man flesh, getting Seamus out of the bedroom, much less the house, proves nigh-on impossible.

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A/N: Thanks for reading and reviewing! We've loved sharing this story with you! If you like our style and haven't got us on Author Alert yet, do it now so you'll get notice when we start another project.


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